


Year of the Crab

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [30]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ted is sick and there's nothing Murray can do for him, except everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood Ties

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for really medically accurate squick, hot sex, heartbreak, betrayal and hate-language, all wrapped up with der Tanzers patented happy ending.

"We don't really have time, Lieutenant. You know I would if…" Murray trailed off, forgetting the rest of the sentence in an onslaught of kisses. He'd only been in the shower for a minute, and normally he'd welcome Quinlan if he wanted to join in, but today they were late for work. After four years, _Bozlan Hobbies &amp; Toys_ was finally making money, and in the summer there were usually customers waiting when they opened. Kites and radio controlled airplanes were the biggest sellers this July, but they were doing a brisk business with rock hounds, too. Murray was excited about all of this, but suddenly he was more excited by the man stepping into the shower.

"It'll take five minutes," Quinlan said, pressing him back against the wall. "I had a dream this morning that's got the work half done already." The firmness of his erection clearly supported that statement and Murray stopped trying to say no. He spread his legs, moaning softly as Quinlan stepped closer, their cocks bumping lightly at first. It got hot in a hurry, wet and slick, both of them struggling not to lose their footing as they ground together. Murray dug his fingers into Ted's hips, holding on hard and capturing his mouth in a deep kiss. With a little encouragement, Quinlan leaned into him, bracing his hands on the wall but letting Murray support most of his weight. After a moment, he broke the kiss and moved to bite at Murray's throat instead. His soft moans and sharp teeth nudged Murray over the edge, making him come with a shuddering cry.

"Good boy," Quinlan whispered. "That sounded sweet."

"It was," Murray sighed, wrapping his hand around Ted's cock and pressing it to his own come-slick belly. "Your turn now, Lieutenant."

It didn't take much to finish him, and Murray watched his face with interest, pleased by the flitting expressions of pleasure. So used to it was he, that he was probably the only person in the world who could have detected the intermingled flashes of pain. Murray's hand loosened instinctively and Quinlan pressed into him to compensate. But when his climax had passed, he looked up and Murray saw that he was biting his lip.

"What is it?" he asked and Ted shrugged. Murray glanced down, suddenly embarrassed, and started to rinse his hand. That was when he saw that his lover's semen was lightly streaked with blood. "Ted, what is it? What—?"

"Nothing," he said brusquely, turning away and reaching for the shampoo.

"Not nothing, Lieutenant. This is blood. And you're in pain—I can see it. How long has—has this been going on?"

"I don't know. A couple days."

Murray thought that must be true or he would have noticed. They'd been together over five years now, but he was still as observant as always.

"You have to go to a doctor," he said flatly.

"It's no big deal."

"Maybe not, but you need to find out. I mean, you're probably right. It's probably a—a bladder infection or a little prostatitis, but you should get it taken care of before it gets worse."

"You think so?" Quinlan asked uncertainly.

"Yes. I'll call Dr. Huntley as soon as his office opens. It—it'll be okay. I'm sure it's just an infection, but you don't want it to get worse. And it hurts, doesn't it?"

"A little," he admitted, and Murray guessed that meant quite a bit. His lieutenant never was one to show pain.

They finished their shower quickly and dressed without discussing it any further.

***

Dr. Huntley had an opening the next day and Quinlan agreed to let Murray go along, but only if he stayed in the waiting room. Murray guessed that it would be a fairly intimate exam, considering how long it had been since Quinlan had a physical, and didn't argue. He sat in an uncomfortable chair and read the new _Scientific American_, trying not to worry. There was a fascinating article on dinosaur fossils from China, but while his eyes were on the page, the rest of him was hovering outside the exam room door, wanting to be inside. He wished he could believe it was a bladder infection, but he doubted that would cause blood in the semen. In the urine, yes, and Ted had admitted to that, too, but Murray was pretty sure only a prostate problem could cause both.

It could be minor, it almost certainly was, but Quinlan was the kind of old-fashioned man who didn't even want to talk about prostates, let alone worry about their health. To him, they were just there to add to pleasure during sex, and any problem with his would affect his view of his own manhood. Murray knew that much from having tried unsuccessfully to talk him into having an exam last year. He was praying for a tiny infection as he read the same page for the third time, knowing that he could handle changes in their sex life much more easily than Ted could. Although, smart and thoughtful as he was, Murray never asked himself how he would feel if it were his sex organs on the line.

He glanced up when the door opened and saw Quinlan come out, his face impassive. He was carrying a single sheet of paper in one hand and Murray knew what that meant.

"Come on, kid. We're going to the lab."

Murray closed his magazine and got up. He managed to keep quiet until they were alone in the elevator and then his reserve broke.

"Well, what did he say?"

"Nothing. He gave me some antibiotics, and he wants to do some tests."

"So he has no idea?"

"No, he has ideas. Says it's probably an infection, like you thought. But he needs the test results to know how to treat it."

"Oh. Yes, of course. But—um—how sure is he? That it's an infection, I mean? It couldn't be anything else?"

"Like what?" Quinlan snapped, his eyes challenging Murray to say it. Murray declined.

"No, you're right. It's really very common in men your age. A slight swelling or even an infection, I mean. It would be more unusual if you didn't have it."

"Yeah, men my age," he repeated bitterly and Murray wanted to bite his tongue off. Instead, he squeezed Ted's hand and kissed him softly, pulling away just before the doors opened.

They waited in the lab for a long time before he was seen, and then went home to wait some more. The results would take two or three days, and Quinlan told him plainly that they wouldn't be talking about it during that time. Not with each other, and certainly not with other people. He saw how that hurt Murray, how the kid wanted to share his worry with his friends and seek support, but this one time he would just have to suck it up. This was Ted's problem, and he needed to be in charge.

So they went to work and followed their normal routine, Quinlan taking care of the store while Murray sat behind the counter, advising customers, ringing up purchases, and running his computer searches for the agency in between. He had a list of license plates and banking records to track down, but it was simple enough and neither job really interfered with the other.

At lunchtime, Nick and Cody usually came by to relieve them so they could go eat, and if they had anything to do in town, like going to the bank or the doctor, they did that, too. The guys had started spending a lot more time at the store as demands on the agency slowed down, and they worked some weekends so Murray and Ted could take mini-vacations.

Ever since Cody's father died, leaving him the bulk of his estate to spite the hot young second wife who thought her affairs had gone unnoticed, they didn't really need to work so much. He and Nick became a lot pickier about the jobs they took, only doing things that were interesting and/or not too dangerous. That actually meant that Murray's workload stayed the same, but he'd always liked his part and had no complaints. It was enough for him that his friends were no longer getting shot at, and Nick had completely given up leaping onto moving cars.

But the day after Quinlan saw the doctor, his friends noticed that something was off. He was brusque with them, gruff bordering on hostile, and Murray looked worried, his soft eyes those of a dog who knows his master is unhappy but can't understand what's wrong. It was a look they'd seen before, on battered wives and abused children, and for the first time in years, Nick felt a serious mistrust of the retired Lieutenant Quinlan.

As soon as he could, Cody got Ted back into the stockroom to check the Ant Farm inventory, and Nick pulled a stool over to Murray's computer desk.

"What's going on, Boz?" he asked without preamble.

"What? Nothing. Why would you think something's wrong?" he stammered, blushing from his collar to his hairline.

"Because I have eyes, Murray. LT's pissed and you look scared, and—I don't know, maybe it's none of my business, but we're still friends, right?"

"Wha—of course we're friends. You don't understand."

"No, I don't. Look, if you're scared of him all of a sudden, you need to tell me about it."

"No, Nick," he said, startled and a little angry, but trying to be patient. "I'm not scared _of_ him, I'm scared _for_ him. But it's his secret and I can't talk about it, so don't try to make me, okay?"

"Is he in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt him? Because that could be dangerous for both of you."

"I know that," he snapped, his patience at an end. "I've been a private detective for almost as long as you have. The difference is _I_ learned to trust _you_."

"I trust you, Murray. And I trust Quinlan, too."

"Really? That's why you asked if I was scared of him?"

"I didn't really think you were, I just had to ask. And he's my friend, too. But you come first, and right now you look like things are going to hell and you can't handle it."

"They are," he confessed, dropping his eyes. "But it's nothing like what you think. It's not us, okay? He's made me promise not to talk about it and talking won't help, anyway. There's nothing you can do that wouldn't make him unhappy, and you can't fix anything."

"All right. But if you keep feeling bad, you might want to renegotiate that promise. Talking might make you feel better, even if it doesn't solve the problem."

"I know. And I will, depending on what happens. You're a good friend, Nick, and I appreciate that. Ted will, too, if—if he needs you."

Nick wanted to ask a lot more questions after that, but the bell over the door jingled and a man came up to the counter, a little boy on his shoulders, and asked if they had kite string. Murray pointed him down the right aisle and then began fixing a counter display of rolling eyeballs. He saw Cody coming back with a box of Ant Farms and smiled to himself when the little boy asked his father if he could have one. By the third _please, daddy_, the man was taking one from the box, and Murray reached under the counter for the glossy paperback of ant information that most people sprung for, since they were already buying the farm. It turned out that Murray had a bit of a knack for marketing.

By the time the father and son left, he'd not only sold them the paperback and two rolling eyeballs, the man wanted to come back the next day and have Murray debug a program on his portable computer.

"That's amazing," Nick said when they were gone.

"What is?" Cody asked, coming over and leaning on the counter.

"Murray. He gets every nickel he can out of every customer. It's amazing."

"I like what I do," Murray shrugged. "People really respond to that. Anyway, it's about time things turned around. Remember the first year, how people didn't even want their kids coming in here alone? It was like they thought we were child molesters or something."

"Well, yeah, that's exactly what they did think," Cody said. "But you've done a great job. It's one of the most successful businesses in town. It's certainly the most successful hobby shop."

"Oh, yes, that's true. We're getting some BB guns in today that the lieutenant's really excited about. And, Nick, your helicopter should be in tomorrow."

"Great. Did I show you the picture, Cody? It's just like _Mimi_, radio controlled—"

"With a three hour battery and a thousand foot range," Cody finished for him. "Yes, you've mentioned it a few times. And I, for one, can't wait to see your face when you crash it in the harbor."

"I'm not going to fly it from the boat, dimwit," he said dismissively. Then his face brightened. "I'm going to take it out to the helipad so _Mimi_ can watch."

Murray was laughing and Cody shaking his head in disgust when Quinlan joined them.

"What are you two still doing here? Don't you have detective work to do or something?"

"Sure, LT. I just needed to get a printout from Murray. You have those DMV records, Boz?"

"Yeah, here you go," he said, suddenly subdued. Nick took it and grabbed Cody's arm, propelling him out the door when he tried to ask what was going on. The last thing they heard was Quinlan's accusatory _you told him, didn't you?_

Murray's answer was lost as the door fell shut.

***

By Friday morning, Murray and Quinlan had put the worst of their worry aside. Murray said that if the news was really bad they'd have heard by now, and Ted trusted his superior knowledge of scientific processes, not realizing that he was making it up this time. Cody dropped by the shop that morning to ask if they wanted to go to the new Italian restaurant for supper, and Quinlan was the first to say he did. Relieved, Murray agreed, and for the first time in days he could be heard whistling as he dusted the shelves.

His cheerfulness was cut short, however, when Dr. Huntley's office called after lunch to have Ted come in and get his test results. Murray didn't tell Quinlan that they only delivered news in person if it was bad, but he thought the lieutenant knew, or at least suspected. He called Nick to come in and watch the store, saying only that something came up, and Nick didn't question him further.

This time they went into the exam room together and didn't have to wait very long for the doctor.

"What's the verdict?" Quinlan asked before the formalities were even concluded. Dr. Huntley cleared his throat, glanced at the chart and sat down on the edge of the table, facing Ted and Murray in their chairs.

"I'm not sure yet," he said. "I'd like to schedule you for some more tests at the hospital, on Monday, if you're able."

"That soon?" he asked, his voice trembling just a little. Murray took his hand, surprised to find it icy cold.

"I think it's a good idea. Ted, I won't lie to you. The preliminary blood work is much more indicative of cancer than it is infection. That doesn't mean for sure that you have cancer, but we do need to do a biopsy and find out."

Murray realized he was holding his breath and tried to draw another without exhaling first. It took him a second to get that straightened out and start moving air again, but when he did, he looked at Quinlan and saw him staring fixedly at the floor.

"Monday?" he asked, and Ted raised his head, giving him an ugly look.

"I've already checked and they can take you early in the morning, Ted. I really think you need to do it. You're already on the antibiotics, so there's no reason to wait."

"No," he said quietly.

"What?" Murray squeaked, torn between outrage and hope that he'd misunderstood.

"No. I—I don't want to get into all this. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna do it at home, without getting cut up and tortured first."

"Ted, this is _not_ a death sentence," Huntley said firmly. "It might not even be cancer, but if it is, I think we caught it early enough that you could be looking at a cure."

"How in the hell can you know that?"

He tried to explain about nodules and thick skin and all kinds of things that Quinlan didn't want to hear. They argued until Murray begged them to stop, and that was when Ted finally looked at him and saw that he was crying.

"All right, this is over," he said, getting to his feet. "Come on, kid. Let's get out of here." He left without waiting for Murray, who was still sitting there in shock. Huntley handed him a tissue and asked if he was all right.

"No," Murray said, surprised by the question. "Can you schedule the appointment for Monday, though? Tell me what he needs to do to be ready and I'll get him there."

"Sure. I'm going to give you my home number, too, in case you have any questions over the weekend." He wrote the number down on the instruction sheet and promised to call with the time later that afternoon.

Murray put the paper in his pocket, thanked the doctor, and went in search of Ted. He checked the waiting area first, even though he knew the lieutenant would be in the car. His only hope was that Quinlan wouldn't be behind the wheel, but of course he was.

"Lieutenant," he said, getting in and closing the door.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"So, what do you want to do?"

"I told you. I'll die at home without all this goddamn medical torture. It's the same in the end, isn't it?"

"But you don't have to die. It could still just be a treatable infection, and you'd feel awfully stupid if you died of something you could have cured with another course of antibiotics."

"If it was an infection, it would have showed in the blood work. No, it's cancer, and everyone knows it."

"Well, so what if it is?" Murray demanded, choking back a sob. "That still doesn't mean it's incurable. You heard him say it was early still. There are treatments."

But Quinlan just shook his head.

"I don't want to go through all that, kid. I've seen it, you know. My old man died of prostate cancer. Ugliest fucking thing I've ever seen. They gave him chemo, made him sicker'n hell, burned all his skin off with radiation—it still got into his bones—his lungs—Jesus, kid, I'd rather eat my gun right now."

"No," Murray cried, and this time the sob broke free. "You can't just quit. It's different now—_everything's_ different. And the least you can do is find out for sure. You don't have to have the chemo or the radiation if you don't want it—that's up to you. We can just—just take it one step at a time. But you can't just not find out. You—I—it's not _fair_." He covered his face with his hands and wept with fear and rage. After a long time, he felt a strong, heavy hand on his shoulder.

"Don't cry, baby," Ted whispered. "Let me think about it, okay? Don't argue with me and don't go telling people. Can you do that?"

Murray wiped his eyes and peered at him hopefully.

"You'll think about it?"

Quinlan nodded.

"For how long?"

"Until I make up my mind. I can't just hear something like that and leap right into decisions that I can't take back, all right? Let's just give it a few days. Let me work it out." He had no intention of changing his mind, the vision of his father's shrunken, ravaged body suddenly imprinted in the forefront of his brain, but he had to give Murray some hope. At least he had to get him to stop crying in the parking lot of the medical center. Suddenly he remembered the day he came back to life, how he'd held Murray in the parking garage at the airport and promised never to make him cry again.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I never would have started this if I'd known it would be so miserable for you."

"It hasn't been miserable, Lieutenant. I love you. You—you've been the best thing in my life these last few years and I just can't lose you now. You have to beat this or I'll be so—_pissed_. You have to at least _try_."

"All right, baby, don't lecture me. Let's just go home. Nick can close up the shop."

"Yeah, okay. But—you really don't want to tell them?"

"No," he said harshly. "Don't say anything to anyone, understand?"

"All right, but—why?"

"I've had enough gossip, haven't you? Besides, I want to at least know what I'm looking at before I start talking about it."

"Does—does that mean you'll have the biopsy?"

"I didn't say that," he snapped and turned the key in the ignition. Murray buckled his seatbelt and kept his mouth shut.

When they got home, Quinlan went straight to the bedroom to lay down, telling Murray not to bother him; that he'd get up when he was ready. Catloaf curled up on the pillow beside him, so at least he wasn't alone. Murray tried not to be hurt, and busied himself with small tasks. Bringing in the mail, checking the answering machine, getting a glass of milk to settle the acid in his stomach. The mail was good today. There was a royalty check for one of his games and a request to write an article for _Computing Today_, one of his highest paying regular publishers. He thought about Ted's treatment, and hiring people to work in the store, and knew they'd need the money.

Murray finished his milk, rinsed the glass, and took the mail to his office to respond to and file. He thought briefly of supper, but he wasn't really hungry and he doubted Ted would be, either. It made more sense to just get to work, as long as Ted was resting and didn't need him. Probably he would be doing most of his work like this from now on. Fitting it in during naps and between treatments. At least he hoped he would. The idea that there might not be any treatments was just too much to face right now. And in that case, he doubted he'd get any more work done.

The ringing doorbell interrupted him at six o'clock, and he hurried to answer it before Quinlan heard and got up. He was surprised to see Nick and Cody on the porch, and didn't know why they were there until Nick told him.

"Oh, right, the Italian place. Gosh, I'm sorry, we forgot all about it."

"Well, get your jacket and let's go," Nick said. He was hungry.

"Wait a second," Cody told him, looking closer at Murray's eyes. "You've been crying, buddy. What's going on?"

Murray glanced over his shoulder at the closed bedroom door, then stepped out onto the porch and shut the door behind him.

"You guys should go on without us. Ted won't want to go anywhere tonight."

"Does this have something to do with your appointment this afternoon?" Cody asked nervously. "Please, just tell us what's wrong."

"I—I can't. Ted was really clear on that. He doesn't want people talking about him, and we don't really know—anything—for sure."

"He's sick, isn't he?" Nick asked flatly. "Something bad, right? Heart trouble, or cancer?"

"Please, he made me promise," Murray whispered, but his quivering lips gave him away.

"Boz, whatever it is, he can't make you go through it alone. You have to be able to talk to someone. Everybody does, but you especially. You can't keep things bottled up," Cody said, his hand strong and friendly on Murray's shoulder.

"But I can't betray him, either. Please, I've already said too much. Just don't say anything to anyone. He'd never forgive me and—and he really needs to trust me right now. I have to make him do hard things and if he doesn't trust me…"

Cody looked at Nick, begging him with his eyes to agree and let Murray alone. They'd caught him between themselves and Quinlan before, and the result was always a very hurt Murray and a small erosion of the trust between them. He always stuck with Ted, the way they always stuck with each other, and no good ever came of trying to dislodge him.

"All right," Nick sighed. "We won't say anything, and we won't bother LT. But you still need to eat. Why don't we put off the restaurant and Cody and I will go get a pizza? You calm down a little, wash your face, and when we come back, we'll act like you never said a word."

"Can you do that?"

"We're not the ones you should be worried about," Cody teased, brushing a tear from Murray's eyelash. "We'll just tell Ted that you didn't feel like going out, okay? If he guesses, maybe he'll decide to talk to us himself."

"He won't," Murray said, as if he knew it to a certainty. "But he might eat some pizza. Thanks, guys."

"That's what friends are for," Cody said, patting him on the shoulder. For a second, Murray was reminded of how he used to love Cody. That hopeless, puppy dog crush that had deviled him day and night until Nick finally took him out back and shot it between the eyes. Metaphorically speaking, of course. That had hurt, but it was right, and merciful, in its way. It had freed him to be a better friend to them, and to love Ted, when the time was right to do so. He stood on the porch and watched them walk back to their car, hoping with all his heart that loving Ted wouldn't get him shot again. There was only so much a man's heart could take.

When Murray went back inside, Quinlan was in the bedroom doorway, shoeless in rumpled clothes, Catloaf winding around his ankles. He looked terrible, and Murray was stricken with guilt that he hadn't gone to check on him earlier.

"What's going on?" he asked sleepily.

"Nothing. Just—the guys were here. We were going out to dinner, remember?"

"Shit. I forgot all about that. You should've gone with them."

"No, they're getting pizza and coming back. I said you didn't feel like going anywhere."

"Should've told them not to bother. They'd have a better time without the cancer-riddled old man."

"Ted, don't," he pleaded, his voice filled with pain.

"What'd you tell 'em?"

Murray went over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

"Nothing. They saw that I was upset, but I wouldn't say why. That's why they're coming back, Lieutenant. They think I need my friends."

"They're just gonna try to get it out of you."

"No, I don't think so. Nick promised. You know if Cody promises, Nick can make him break it, but if Nick promises, it's okay."

"Hell, you know those two better than I ever will. I'm going to the bathroom." He stepped away and left Murray standing there, wishing he knew what to do. Suddenly being trapped between his lover and his friends seemed like a very small problem compared to being without either.

By the time the guys got back with the pizzas, Ted had regained his composure and Murray had washed away all signs of tears. He put a movie in the VCR while Quinlan got the beer out of the fridge. Ted took the recliner with Catloaf on the back, flicking his tail at Ted's face, and Murray sat on the floor at his feet, leaving the sofa for their friends. Nick told them about the afternoon business, how many customers had been in, and how many of them needed computer help. He had a list, crumpled up in his pocket, but Murray said he'd look at it later, when their hands were less greasy.

"You were really right about those chemistry sets," Cody said when conversation lagged. "I sold two of them this afternoon, and had one complaining mother whose kid bought one last week."

"What was her complaint?" Murray asked, interested despite himself.

"Something about chlorine gas. You know I don't understand that stuff. All I know is there's a warning right on the box."

"People always need someone to blame. Is her son all right?"

"Yeah, they just had to spend a couple hours airing out the house. Oh, and you got an order for a pretty nice microscope."

"Oh, good. I love when people buy microscopes. I can show them how to take pictures of the slides and everything." He was starting to get excited, and Quinlan looked down on him with a fond expression that Murray didn't see, but that scared his friends a little.

"So, where did you guys go today?" Nick asked with forced casualness.

Murray's eyes went wide, and he gasped at the betrayal. The lieutenant heard it and knew to a certainty that he really hadn't told them anything.

"Saw the doctor," he said, his casualness much less forced than Nick's.

"Oh? Any special reason?"

"Yearly physical. No big deal." He nudged Murray's hip with his toe and Murray handed him a beer.

"Must have been tiring."

"Nick, stop it," Cody hissed. "If he wanted to talk, he'd be talking."

"I'm talking. Just isn't much to say about a physical, is there? You've had 'em." He drank half the beer and handed the can back to Murray, who finished it and opened another.

"Oh, this is my favorite part," Murray said, gesturing to the TV with the can. Quinlan looked over at the screen and pretended to be interested in Dan Aykroyd explaining to Bill Murray that it was different in the private sector; they expect results. He laughed, more at Murray's pleasure than at the joke, which he'd heard many, many times, and which didn't work that well for people who had never been in academia. But Murray loved the geekiness of scientists wandering around New York with unlicensed nuclear accelerators on their backs, and Quinlan wanted badly to see him happy.

When those bright eyes turned up toward him and a graceful hand offered him the beer, Ted suddenly knew what was going to happen. In that second, he saw the rest of his life laid out before him, and though he couldn't tell how long or short it would be, he knew how it would be spent. He sighed through a smile and took the can.

"I love you, kid," he said quietly. Nick and Cody pretended not to hear.

***

"You want to go to bed already?" Murray asked as he picked up the paper plates and napkins scattered around the living room. "I thought you probably slept this afternoon."

"No, I was just thinking. Let me help with that." He stood and started gathering beer cans. They'd more or less chased Nick and Cody out as soon as the movie was over, not letting them help in spite of Cody's half-hearted offers.

"Oh? I don't want to nag, but what did you think about?"

"I guess there's no harm in having the biopsy. It's not like I never had anything shoved up my ass before."

"And what will you do if, you know, it's positive?"

"I don't know. We'll ask the doctor, probably, and after that, I'll do whatever you say."

"Whatever I say?"

"Well, yeah, you're the scientist, right? You—oh, never mind. Here, give me that." He took the pizza box from Murray, stacked a half dozen beer cans on it and went into the kitchen. Murray followed, his hands full of trash.

"No, what were you saying? Please, Lieutenant."

"Well, you know better about this stuff, right? You read all those magazines, you know how to do research and ask questions. You—you'll help me, right? Help me figure out what to do?" He sounded so uncertain, closer to tears than Murray had seen him since he came back to life four years ago. Murray threw away the trash and stepped up behind him, hugging him hard.

"Of course I will. Anything you need, Ted. I—I'll go to all your appointments, talk to your doctors—there must be all kinds of books, too, about diet and things."

"Yeah, you read the books for me. I need that kind of help, kid."

"Okay, good. Ted, we can do this. I can be organized and drive you places, and the guys will help with the store, I'm sure."

"We should offer to hire them, since they probably won't be able to work on their own shit. But I still don't want to tell them yet. Not until we're sure. I don't want people to start staring and pitying me one minute before they have to."

"Nick and Cody won't stare."

"Still, you promised and I'm holding you to it. Maybe Nick can't keep his promises, but I know you can."

"As soon as we start talking about this, I'm going to tell him what I think of that. He said he'd act like he didn't know a thing. I didn't know that meant he'd start asking questions."

"Oh hell, they just want to be sure you're okay. Ryder hates the thought of anyone but him telling you what to do. He always has."

Murray laughed and kissed the back of his neck.

"It's one of the more frustrating aspects of our friendship," he smiled, "but I know it's just because he loves me. He probably even loves you, too."

"I hope so," Quinlan sighed. "Because if I'm gonna die slow, all of three of you are gonna go through hell."

"You won't die. I won't let you."

"I guess if anyone can stop it, you can," he admitted. "You mind if I hit the shower? I really want to get to bed."

"You go ahead. I'm just going to finish cleaning up here and then I'll be right with you." He wondered if he should offer to join him in the shower, he did about half the time, but this time he didn't. Maybe Quinlan wanted to be alone. Murray waited to see if he'd ask, but he didn't. When Ted was gone, Murray picked up the cat and scratched his orange head gently. It was good to have someone who always understood.

Quinlan showered and got into bed while Murray brushed his teeth and made the nightly tour of the house. He felt like a lot of responsibilities would devolve on him over the next few weeks and he may as well start now.

When he slid naked into bed, Quinlan pressed against him, resting his head on Murray's shoulder. Normally it was Murray in that position, snuggled against the broad chest, but tonight it was Quinlan who needed to be held. He eased his arm under Ted's neck and felt a sigh shudder run through the stocky body. If he expected tears he was disappointed, but that wasn't a bad thing.

"It's going to be all right," he said softly.

"Murray, I'm a sixty year old man pissing blood. That's not all right."

"No, but it will be. It happens, Ted. It happens, and people get better."

"It won't be the same, though. Probably won't even be able to get it up anymore. Why would you want to be with someone who can't even fuck?"

"Because it's you. Sex isn't the most important thing, you know. I've gone without it before, for years at a time. I love you, no matter what."

"You fucked me before we ever had a civil conversation, and you kept fucking me even though you were scared of me. Weren't you?"

"I was scared you'd change your mind and send me home. I loved our conversations. I still do."

"You love taking it up the ass."

"Yes, but that's _really_ not the most important thing. Anyway, it might not be an issue. Not all men lose—function. And it does come back, sometimes."

"Yeah? How long does that take?"

"It depends. A few weeks to a couple years, as I understand it. I need to do some reading and talk to the doctors. But it doesn't matter, Ted. At least not to me. We can do other things. You—you're great with your hands and your mouth, and there are—toys."

"That stuff gonna help me if I can't get hard?"

"I think it's possible to have an orgasm without an erection. You could still have a good time. I—you know—I'd do whatever I could for you. It might be—different—but we'd still be together. It'd still be you and me, making love, and that's what counts, right?"

"Murray, tell me the truth. Is that really how you feel? You—you ain't just saying that now because it might not happen?" Murray started to speak and Quinlan stopped him with a hand over his mouth. "No, think about it a minute. Think about how you'll feel two or three years from now, if it doesn't come back and you ain't been fucked properly once in all that time. You really think you won't go looking for someone who can give you what you need?"

"You're the only person who can give me what I need. You know that you're the only person to ever fuck me like that, and I only want it from you. I'd rather have hand jobs from you than get fucked by anyone else, and that's a promise."

"I don't want things to change," he whispered. "I don't want to be sick and helpless and not—not be a man anymore."

"No, Ted, that won't happen. You'll always be a man. I know you're scared, I'm scared, too, but you're still going to be you."

"Toward the end, when they were desperate to do anything to stop my old man from hurting so bad, they took out his nuts."

"What?"

"His testicles. Cut 'em right out to stop the hormones that were feeding the tumors. It didn't do any good, though. Just one more indignity."

"Ted, listen to me," he said, his voice shaking but determined. "I _promise_ I will research every treatment option out there. I know people in every field of medicine, people involved in drug trials, all kinds of things. I _will_ find ways to help you. And no matter what happens, the decisions are up to you. If you don't want a treatment or a procedure, you don't have to have it. If castration would save your life and you still don't want it, that's up to you. I won't ever try to force you into anything."

"But it wouldn't save my life. It's just to control the pain. And, Murray, I can't—I can't promise that I'd be able to handle that much pain. Do you know what I mean?"

"Well, there are medications. Even home morphine drips, if it came to that. I'm sure—"

"Yeah, it's easy to be sure now. But I need you to understand, I been through a lot already. I know about pain, and I know my own limits. I love you, baby, and I don't want to leave you, but there's a limit, and if I reach it, I can't promise anything."

"You're talking about suicide? Jesus, Ted, you haven't even had the biopsy," Murray said, sudden tears dropping on Quinlan's face.

"I always have a plan."

Murray drew a deep breath, let it out with a sigh, and tried again. After two or three breaths, he came up with some words.

"Lieutenant—_Ted_—I need one promise. Please, just one. If it comes to that, and I refuse to believe it will, but if it does, promise you'll talk to me first. Promise I won't just come in and—and find you dead with a note or something. Please."

"Baby, if it comes to that, I'll probably need your help."

Murray pulled him closer, holding Quinlan's head to his chest with one hand and hugging him too hard. They both shuddered with repressed sobs for a few minutes, and then Quinlan broke. Murray held him, crying with him, for most of the night.

***

In the morning, they showered together, ate breakfast and went to work, beginning the first day of the rest of their lives as if nothing at all had changed.

Business was brisk all morning as families came in for kites and beach toys to celebrate yet another perfect, sunny California day. Murray usually stayed behind the counter, but today he kept catching Ted staring out the window, at the street or at the sky, so he started stocking shelves and helping customers find things. When someone came to the counter with a purchase, Quinlan would get up and take care of it, then go back to looking out the window. If he realized that Murray wasn't there where he belonged, he gave no sign.

Nick and Cody came in just after noon, as they always did, but Quinlan seemed surprised to see them.

"Aren't you guys a little early?" he asked, tearing his eyes away from the single cloud that moved leisurely across the sky.

"It's a quarter past twelve," Cody said. "If anything, we're late."

"Oh. Let time get away from me, I guess." He stood up and stretched, then looked around for Murray, as if noticing for the first time that his partner wasn't there. "Hey, Bozinsky," he called, and Murray's head popped up from behind a rack of wire connectors.

"What—oh, hey, guys. Is it noon already?"

"What's going on?" Nick asked impatiently. "Did all the clocks in here stop or something?"

"We've been so busy," Murray said. "This is really our best time of year."

"Well, if you're that busy, you need your strength," Cody grinned. "It's lunchtime."

"Yeah, okay. Lieutenant, do you want to go get some lunch?" he asked, carrying his box of connectors to the counter and putting it away.

"I'm not really hungry. You go ahead if you want."

"No, come on. Cody's right, you need your strength," he said, his eyes lending the words more meaning than a busy morning at the store would imply. Quinlan held his gaze for a moment and then nodded. "Good. We can go to _Job's Turkey_ and have the Saturday special."

"I don't know if I'm in the mood for bottomless onion rings, kid."

"So I'll eat your share. Thanks, guys. We won't be long."

"You will be if you try to finish the bottomless onion rings," Nick grumbled good-naturedly.

"And when you get back, we've got a little job tonight you might be interested in," Cody added. "Just some surveillance, but we could really use your video camera."

Murray gave Quinlan a questioning glance and was answered by a shrug.

"We'll talk about it when we get back," he said. "But even if we don't go, you can use my equipment. You should know how to run the camera by now."

"Yeah, sure, Boz," Cody said slowly. When they were gone, he pulled up the stool behind the register and sat down. "There's something really wrong here, Nick. I mean _really_ wrong."

"I noticed that, too. Murray's not excited about a stakeout, LT doesn't want to eat—I know what he said last night, but it's almost like they're breaking up or something. Like they want to avoid us so they can fight in private."

"No, no way. Murray's scared, but he's drawing closer to Ted, not away. Look at that." He pointed out the window to where their friends were getting into the old black Granada. Quinlan was settling in the passenger seat while Murray stood by, holding the door. He leaned in and they saw him speak, his hand brushing lightly over Quinlan's cheek. Then he straightened up, closed the door, and walked around the car to get behind the wheel.

"Holy fucking shit," Nick whispered. "He's letting Murray drive. You're right, they're not splitting up. He's dying."

"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking, too," Cody said, swallowing hard. "But you heard him last night. He said it was just a physical, and Murray said he wasn't allowed to talk about it. That means we don't know, okay? And we, meaning _you_, aren't going to ask any more questions. Whatever's going on must be hard enough for them to deal with without having to worry about us."

"Sure, for now. But they're gonna need help, and unless they have another set of best friends that we don't know about, that's gonna be us."

"I know. But it has to be the help they _need_, not the help we want to give. When one of them wants to talk, we'll talk. Until then, we keep our mouths shut and do whatever they ask."

"Cody, I'm offended. You know I just want what's best for Murray."

"I know." He turned on the stool, opening his closed posture just a little, and Nick stepped between his knees to hug him, oblivious of the picture window at the front of the store. It wasn't like everyone didn't know already. "Just don't forget," Cody went on, "that in this case, what's best for Murray is what's best for Ted. Don't you go trying to get between them and make Murray do what you want."

"I haven't done that for years," Nick scoffed, kissing the top of Cody's head. He was answered by a soft chuckle. "Okay, months. But I'll be good. Just—what if LT dies? What's going to happen to Murray then?"

"No idea. Maybe he'll come home to the _Riptide_."

"Maybe," Nick said, sounding doubtful. "But I have the idea that he doesn't think of it as home anymore."

"Yeah, you're probably right. We'll—we'll do something, though. We'll take care of him somehow."

Nick rested his chin on top of Cody's head and tried to think of a way to do that. He wondered if there was anything that could help him if he were in Murray's place. Nothing at all came to mind.

***

Cody and Nick agreed to open the store on Monday without asking why. They saw that Murray was tense and distracted, but chose to honor his wishes and wait for information. But if they were hoping it would come that day, they were disappointed. All they got was a phone call from Murray at noon, saying they could lock up and go home if they wanted to; he wouldn't be in.

Quinlan handled himself with dignity all weekend, taking his antibiotics and not showing his worry over the impending biopsy. But when they were actually at the hospital, sitting in the oncology waiting room with frightened looking old people and children with bandanas on their heads, his reserve slipped a little. He wanted to run away, or, lacking that, at least ask Murray to hold his hand. It seemed like if two men could hold hands in public anywhere, it should be here. But that made him nervous, too, and he didn't ask.

When the nurse came and called his name, Murray rose to go with him.

"Your son can wait out here," she said politely. "Someone will let him know when you're finished."

"He's not my son," Quinlan said, too harshly, "and I want him to come."

"Oh. All right." Her voice and expression were suddenly cold but she didn't look inclined to argue. Quinlan followed her through the door and Murray stuck by his side.

The nurse showed them into the lab and left them there without a word.

"I wonder what we do now," Murray said, almost to himself.

"No idea. I guess if we sit here long enough, someone will come along and tell us." He illustrated his words by sitting down in the only chair, thinking briefly that it would be awhile before he sat anywhere without discomfort again.

After a few minutes, a chipper young man popped in with a clipboard and asked if he was Theodore Quinlan.

"Yeah, but it's Ted," he said shakily, surprised to find that he couldn't keep his voice steady.

"Okay, Ted, I'm Bruce and I'll be doing your procedure today. Didn't the nurse get you a gown? I hope you're not one of those troublesome patients who actually prefer real clothes."

"Doesn't everyone? But no, she never said a word. Just pointed us in here and left."

"Huh. Well, here you go," he said, pulling a thin gown out of a drawer. "You can change behind that curtain while I get things set up. And you," he added, turning toward Murray, "are you Ted's son?"

"No, but I guess we must look more alike than I thought, since people keep asking that. My name's Murray Bozinsky. I—I'm a friend."

"Hmm. Well, this isn't the kind of thing that friends usually want to watch. You might be more comfortable waiting outside. I promise I'll take good care of Ted, and he'll probably be more comfortable, too."

"No, he—he asked me to stay with him. I promised I'd be here every step of the way."

"Oh," the young man said, suddenly looking a lot less chipper. That same iciness crossed his face that they had seen on the nurse's, and Murray was not reassured. If there had ever been a chance he would leave this room without Ted, it vanished in that instant.

"Well, there isn't a rule against it," Bruce said, sounding very much as if he wished there was, "so I guess it's up to you." He went on getting things ready and Murray stayed out of his way.

When Quinlan came out from behind the curtain, Murray could see that he'd heard every word and that the iciness bothered him, too. But there was nothing they could do about it now, except be cool and try not to make whatever it was worse. He followed Bruce's rather sullen instructions and got up on the table.

"Here," the tech said shortly. "Pull your knees up like this and don't move."

"Isn't there anesthetic or something?" Murray asked. He wouldn't have for himself, not of a man with such an unwelcoming face, but it was easier somehow when it was his lover who was about to be hurt.

"It's not really necessary. Some people prefer it, but I'm told that it doesn't really hurt."

Murray looked doubtful, but Quinlan had already made up his mind. This kid was judging him without mercy and prolonging the contact would only give him more opportunities to do so.

"Don't worry about it," he said quietly. "I'm sure it won't be that bad."

He changed his mind as soon as it started, but then it was too late. In that instant, Murray abandoned all pretense of being _just a friend_. He moved the chair closer to the head of the table so he could sit and look Ted in the eye. One trembling hand reached for his and Murray held it tight. His free hand stroked Ted's forehead as he whispered reassuring things, just low enough for the tech to hear but not understand the words.

"I bet you're glad they didn't decide on the transurethral procedure," Murray said, try for a joke.

"Yeah, I kinda am. I swear, I didn't know a half inch tube up the ass could hurt this much."

"Well, I'd say it's closer to an inch, really," Murray smiled, using his thumb to catch a tear that to escape from the corner of Ted's eye.

"I'm a little surprised," Bruce said, overhearing some of the conversation. "I'd have thought you'd—be used to it."

Murray heard the pause and the unspoken edit (_thought you'd like it_, was what he wanted to say), and was instantly furious. Almost furious enough to stop the procedure, but Quinlan saw his intent and squeezed his hand as hard as he could, shocking him with the pain and holding him back. Their eyes met, and Quinlan shook his head minutely.

"It won't be any different later," he whispered, and Murray hung his head in defeat. Maybe no one would ever be any different. He was terrified now that if the biopsy did show cancer, Ted would refuse treatment based on this one tech's attitude. Well, one tech and one nurse. Which meant pretty much everyone they'd come in contact with so far. Dr. Huntley had lulled them with his kind understanding into thinking that the medical profession in general would be the same. Now Murray was wondering if there was one more kind person in all the world.

Quinlan flinched when the needle stuck him and Bruce told him without sympathy to hold still. He took ten more samples and Murray flinched for him every time.

"All right then," Bruce said, withdrawing the tube. "You can get dressed and your doctor will call with your results." He took two minutes to clean up and then was gone.

"Lieutenant," Murray said hesitantly and Ted cut him off.

"Don't say anything, kid. Let's just get the fuck out of here."

"They're not all going to be like this," he said, all in a rush before Quinlan could cut him off again.

"You don't know that. Come on, let's just go." He dressed hurriedly and dragged Murray out of the building as fast as he could hobble. The car ride that followed was the longest and most uncomfortable either of them had ever endured, and when they got home, Quinlan went straight to bed.

"You must be hungry," Murray said, lingering over the act of taking off Quinlan's shoes. "Can I bring you a sandwich or something?"

"Not right now," he sighed, manfully resisting the urge to kick and scream and throw a righteous tantrum. "I didn't sleep much last night. I just want a nap, okay?"

"Sure. I'll just call the guys and tell them I'm not coming to work this afternoon. If you need anything, I'll be in the office."

"Thanks," Quinlan said simply, and Murray understood it to cover a multitude of things. He fixed the blankets for his lover, kissed him softly on the mouth and left the room.

Murray did call over to the store, but he kept it short and when he was done, he called Dr. Huntley. The doctor was in his office for lunch and Murray told him what had happened at the hospital, how cold and rude everyone had been, and that the tech had talked Quinlan out of the anesthetic. That part was the most surprising to the good doctor, who knew that it was almost always encouraged, even when the patient tried to refuse. He said he would look into it and suggested Murray and Ted both write letters of complaint.

"That's all well and good," Murray said, his letter already half written in his head, "but what about the next thing? What if Ted needs treatment? He won't go back to those people."

"No, I wouldn't recommend it. He'll need a urologist, Murray. Or, more specifically, a urologic oncologist. There isn't one in King Harbor anyway, so you'd have to take him to LA. Let me make some calls and I'll see if I can find someone who has experience treating gay men. That would be your best bet, and in the city, I'm sure there must be one. But in the meantime, we'll file our complaints with the hospital here and keep our hopes up that he won't need any treatment after all."

Murray thanked him, hung up the phone, and opened his word processing program to write that letter. Catloaf jumped up in his lap and curled up while Murray typed. He spent an hour on the letter, then put the cat aside and went to the kitchen to make lunch. He made grilled cheese and chicken noodle soup without asking if Quinlan was hungry yet. He'd had good luck in the past with the present-him-with-food-and-guilt-him-into-eating technique, and this was no exception. Ted was awake, lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. He glanced at Murray, took in the tray of food in his hands, and sighed.

"Murray, I'm not—"

"I don't care. You know what Dr. Huntley said; you have to eat."

"I don't feel like it," he said flatly and turned away.

"If you don't want the sandwich, I can make you something else," Murray said, his voice small and hurt.

"Don't pull that, kid. Just leave me alone."

"Ted, you need to keep your strength up. What if you have to have surgery? We don't know when that might be and you have to be ready."

"I'm not having surgery."

"Wh—how do you know that? We haven't heard from the pathologist—we don't have any information to go on."

"I have enough. I'm not going to let people treat me like that. It looks like I can be a queer or I can have cancer. I can't do both."

"Lieutenant, please just eat a little before this gets cold, and I'll tell you some other things we know."

"What do you know that I don't? And this had better not be a bunch of statistics and anecdotes, because I'm not in the mood." He did sit up, though, and let Murray set the tray on the bed. "Well, aren't you having any?"

"Yeah." Murray picked up his sandwich, tore a piece off and nibbled it slowly. He waited for Ted to drink a little of the soup, hopefully enough to decide that he was hungry, and then told him about his conversation with Dr. Huntley.

"He thinks he can find a—what, a gay doctor? Is that the idea?"

"Well, the doctor might not be gay himself, but at least we can find one with some sensitivity. LA's a big city with a lot of different kinds of people. There has to be a decent urologist somewhere."

"I'll leave that up to you, then. Let me know if you find one."

"And if I can't, you're saying you'd rather die?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Kid, I told you—I've seen this. Driving my old man to his appointments, talking to his doctors, taking him to the barber to get his hair shaved off before it fell out—Murray, it's a full time job. The doctor gets to be as big a part of your life as your best friend, or your worst enemy. After my dad died, my mom stayed in touch with his for months. So, yeah, I'm not going into this with some prejudiced prick who doesn't care if I'm hurting, or even if I die. I think I'd have a better shot on my own."

"Oh. Well, yes, I can understand that," he said slowly, picking his sandwich apart without noticing. "But you can't decide for sure until we see what Dr. Huntley finds. I mean, there are a lot of gay men in LA and they all have prostates, right?"

"Yeah, and I bet they stay away from doctors, too."

Murray took a deep breath and set down his mangled wad of toast and cheese.

"Lieutenant, I have to be honest. You're scaring me, all right?"

"You think you're the only one who's scared?"

"No, not at all. I know you're scared, too. But you're in control, so it's different."

"Funny, I don't feel like I'm in control of jack shit."

"Okay, you're not in control of whatever's happening inside your body. But you get to decide how to handle it. You can decide not to see another doctor ever again. You can decide that, if you have cancer, you want to lie here in this room and wait to die, and there's nothing I can do about it. I promised that I wouldn't nag or try to force you into anything, but even if I broke my promise, they're just words. I don't have any power at all, except to bring you food that you won't eat and—and hope for the best. And that's the scariest thing I've ever encountered. I'd rather have a gun to my head."

"I never wanted to be responsible for your happiness," he said softly.

"That's what happens in relationships, Lieutenant. I mean, what if it was me? When I get sick, you alternate between mothering and bullying until I do what you want and get well. Wouldn't you make me go to these doctors and be humiliated and reduced to tears on a regular basis if it meant I wouldn't—die?"

"That's not as easy an answer as you'd think. Sure, I'd do anything to get you better, but I could only watch you cry for so long."

"Well, yes, I would try to limit the crying for your sake. I'd also try really hard to stick with the treatment for the same reason. I don't want to play the guilt card or anything, but I'd do anything to keep you from feeling the way I do right now."

"I've always known you were a better person than me." He picked up his mug of soup and drank most of it, unable to face the buttery sandwich.

"I never said that."

"No, but it's true. Murray, I'm gonna try; that's all I can say right now."

"That's all I can ask," he said, but his voice gave away the lie. Quinlan knew from that voice that Murray could ask a lot, and he probably would before this was over.

They drank their soup and Murray took the tray away, then came back and lay down beside him. Quinlan turned on the TV and the subject was dropped.


	2. Lucky Fortunes

The doorbell woke them from their uncomfortable naps at a little after six. Murray hadn't meant to sleep that long, or at all, really, but neither had slept much the night before, and having the biopsy over relieved just enough pressure to let them rest. He was still tired, though, and dragged himself out of bed to answer the door, barefoot and shirtless.

"Hey, Boz," Cody said hesitantly. "Rough day?"

"Kind of," he answered through a yawn. "What's up, guys?"

"We just thought we'd bring over the day's receipts. We went ahead and stayed 'til closing, since business was so good. So, can we come in?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. Gosh, where are my manners? Come on in. I'm sorry, we just had to go somewhere early this morning and I fell asleep after lunch."

"Murray, when are you gonna tell us—?" Nick began and Cody kicked him sharply.

"Give me a minute to get a shirt," Murray said, as if he hadn't spoken. "Do you want to stay for supper?"

Nick said, rather grudgingly, that they would, and Murray wandered off without answering. When he returned, he was still barefoot, but he'd put on a shirt. It wasn't buttoned properly, which, a week ago, would have made his friends think he'd been fighting off Quinlan's advances while trying to dress. Now, coupled with the shadows under his eyes, it worried them terribly. As did the fact that Catloaf was meowing around his feet and not getting picked up.

"Boz, I think you missed a couple buttons there," Cody said helpfully.

"Oh? Oh, right." He fixed it impatiently, nimble fingers fumbling distractedly as he kept his eyes on the closed bedroom door. "Is it okay if I order Chinese? Ted's tired of pizza and no one else delivers."

"Sure, whatever you want," Nick said, begging Cody with his eyes to release him from his promise and let him interrogate their friend until the truth poured out. Cody shook his head, but it was half-hearted at best.

"Great. There's a—a menu around here somewhere. Maybe in the kitchen…" He trailed off and headed that way, looking lost.

"Murray, stop," Nick ordered and Cody didn't kick him this time. "What's going on here? We know something's wrong, and you know we know, so why aren't you telling us about it?"

"It's not my secret to tell," he whispered, turning back toward the bedroom like a compass needle seeking true north.

"Bullshit. It's hurting you, whatever it is, and you deserve help. He can't make you keep a secret that's torturing you. That's just not right."

Murray kept his eyes fixed on the bedroom door, his heart pounding in his throat, choking him.

"It's not my place," he said at last, and turned toward the kitchen again. The click of the doorknob stopped him, froze him in his tracks like the cocking of a gun. His shoulders hunched as if to ward off a blow, and then Quinlan was beside him, hugging him hard. No one spoke as they stood in the middle of the room, holding each other up, Murray struggling not to cry and Ted just rubbing his back. Cody didn't have to tell Nick to keep quiet this time, and when the silence was broken, it was Quinlan who spoke first.

"You go ahead and order supper. Get me the sub gum chow mein, okay?"

Murray nodded and went to the kitchen, forgetting all about the menu. He'd been eating Chinese with them long enough to make good guesses, anyway. When he was gone, Quinlan sank into the recliner and rubbed his eyes.

"Yeah, I was listening," he said abruptly. "And you're right, I shouldn't have made him promise. I should have known you two would try to drag it out of him and he'd end up pulled apart. Again. You still don't have any faith in me, do you?"

"It isn't that, Ted," Cody said lamely. "It's just that he's hurting, you both are, and friends are supposed to help each other with things like that. It seems like you don't trust us much, either."

"It's not the same thing. I wanted to keep people from worrying, or _gossiping_ for as long as I could. Protect my friends from worrying, and myself from knowing people are talking about me."

"Talking about what?" Cody asked very gently.

"That appointment we went to this morning was at the hospital. For a—a prostate biopsy. Doctor thinks I might—oh, hell, I _probably_—have cancer. But I don't know for sure, and I'm really not ready to talk about it. Can you two understand that?"

"Yeah, we understand," Nick said blankly. He was the one who said the lieutenant must be dying if he let Murray drive, and this scenario had certainly crossed his mind, but actually hearing it confirmed hurt him in ways he'd never expected. He looked over at his partner, but Cody was already getting up, heading into the kitchen. "All right, we won't ask any more questions, and we won't say anything to anyone. But you'll tell us when you know, right? Because if it's true, you're going to need a lot of help."

He nodded and turned on the television to drown out the sound of Murray crying in the kitchen while Cody finished placing their order with _Lucky Fortune _.

***

"Come on, kid. If I have to eat, so do you," Quinlan said, tired of watching him push his orange chicken around the plate. The orange cat was sitting beside Murray, staring hopefully at the food, but it was too spicy for him and Murray wouldn't be sharing this time.

"I'm not very hungry."

"Yeah, that's what _I_ said. Now eat."

Murray smiled wanly and took a small bite. Quinlan nudged him with his foot and he took another, chewing slowly and swallowing it with great effort.

"He's right, Boz. You're going to need your strength as much as LT does."

All three fixed Nick with stern glares and he shrugged.

"What, I can't be on your side?" he asked innocently.

"All right, Ryder, I'll let you have that one. And I guess it wouldn't hurt to say one thing. I know you're thinking I'm going to need taking care of, but that's not what I want from you."

"What do you want, Ted?"

"Murray will take care of me. He already knows how. What I want you two to do is take care of him. I think you know what I mean."

They both nodded, and Murray blushed faintly.

"Thanks," he said shortly, and went back to picking the chicken out the vegetable chow mein.

"Why do you get the sub gum if you're not going to eat it?" Cody asked after a while.

"What part is that, anyway?" Nick asked. "I don't actually know."

"I think sub gum probably means celery," Murray said. "That's what most of it is."

"Probably. I like the celery. And the noodles. They're—crunchy."

"Leave him alone," Murray said. "He needs the protein. Probably. Actually, experts disagree about whether a diet high in meat is really good for—well, anyway, chicken is low in fat and high in protein, so it can't hurt."

"Let's hope not," Quinlan said, trying for a joke. "I'm not going on one of those rice and wheat germ diets. I don't care what that _Battlestar Galactica_ guy says."

"Oh, no, he's hardly an authority. But anecdotal evidence in always interesting."

"Not always," he countered. There were times when anecdotes wore a bit thin.

"Yes, you always win," Murray said, turning his face up to Ted and smiling his first real smile of the day. "But I'm still going to try to improve your diet. I need to go to the library tomorrow and get some books about—"

"No," Quinlan said sharply, breaking the easy mood they had so tentatively built.

"What? Why?"

"Don't go to the library. Everyone there knows you, right? Aren't they going to wonder why you're checking out books on cancer?"

"Oh. Yes, you're right. I guess I can't place an order at the bookstore, either. So what am I supposed to do?" It never occurred to him to argue the lieutenant's strictures. It was his secret to keep if he wanted.

"Go into LA," Cody said. "Order your books at a store there and have them mailed over."

"Yes, that's a good idea. But I'll wait a while, just to be sure. There's still time."

"Yeah, there is," Nick said, reaching for his beer. "But whenever you need to go to town, you don't have to worry about the store. You know that, right?"

"I know. In fact, we were talking about offering you full time jobs, for a while, at least. If Ted needs surgery, he'll be laid up for a month or more, and I'll want to be here."

"That long?" Nick asked, surprised.

"Well, yeah. I don't know too much about it yet, but I think he'll be pretty much restricted to the house for two or three weeks, and it'll be another two at least before he can drive."

"Well, we've never been nine to five guys," Nick grinned, "or at least, I haven't, but we can make an exception this once. There'll be time to wrap up our cases, right? And pick up some argyle socks for Cody."

"I assume so," Murray said, laughing a little at Cody's offended expression. Then he turned serious again. "Dr. Huntley gave me a pamphlet that said surgery is usually scheduled a month or so in advance."

"Really? They don't do emergency—whatevers?" Cody asked.

"Not really. I think that if the tumor is that advanced, they don't operate at all."

Quinlan looked down on him, his face still and unreadable. Murray flushed darkly and looked away. There was an uncomfortable silence, and then Ted nudged his hip again, made him look up, and smiled.

"It's gonna be okay, baby," he whispered. "Eat your chicken, now."

"If you eat your celery."

They nagged gently back and forth until both had eaten over half their respective meals. There was a little bag of fortune cookies on the footlocker and Cody passed them around. Murray opened his first and ate a piece of cookie while he studied the little strip of paper. He gasped softly, one hand going to his mouth, and for a moment his friends thought he was choking.

"What is it, kid?"

"It—it says—_You are surrounded by more love than you will ever know_. What a beautiful fortune."

"Well, it's not exactly a fortune, is it?" Quinlan said. "Not like mine. _Your worst fears will not be realized_. Now _that's_ good news."

"I hope cancer's your worst fear, LT."

"It's in the top five." He declined to list the others, but they were all related. Hurting Murray, going bankrupt, dying in misery. A treatable tumor wasn't so bad compared to those things.

"What about yours, Nick?"

"_You will be a treasure to your friends_. That's reassuring. Cody?"

"Yeah, I think you're a treasure."

"No," Murray laughed. "What's your fortune?"

"It's a little odd," he said, his forehead wrinkled in confusion. "It says _Trust yourself and only good will come to you_. I wonder what I'm supposed to do with that."

"Trust yourself, it sounds like," Nick shrugged. "You haven't led us wrong much so far."

"Yeah, well, you hardly ever let me lead."

"I let you be on top sometimes," he whispered, low and throaty, and Cody stopped the rest of it with a kiss.

Murray rose from his place at Quinlan's feet and took his plate, balancing it carefully on his own and carrying both into the kitchen, making just enough noise to remind Cody that there were other people around. When he came back, Ted was talking about going to bed and their friends were getting ready to leave.

"I'm really glad you told us the truth," Nick said suddenly. "I'm sorry I nagged you so much, but you know it's just because we care."

"Yeah, I know," Quinlan said, casting about for a way to deflect his embarrassment. "But Murray'll be okay. I won't let him get hurt."

Nick glanced at Cody, who quirked his eyebrows meaningfully.

"I know you won't," he said and bit his lip to hold the rest back. Somehow, embarrassing Murray was always okay.

Everyone said goodnight and the guys left. Murray went back to gathering up plates and napkins, throwing peevish looks at Quinlan as he did, but not saying anything. While he was in the kitchen washing the few dishes, Ted came in and leaned against the counter by the sink.

"Okay, baby, what's with the stink-eye?"

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Pretend you don't know what they're talking about? They're your friends, Lieutenant. They care a lot about you and you just blow it off."

"It's weird for me, you know that. I don't like having people fuss over me, acting like I'm sick. And before you say I am, I know that. I hate it even more when it's true."

"You and Nick have a lot in common, don't you?" he said dryly.

"Yeah, we do. And I'm sure he's gonna get a chance to change my diapers before this is over, but that doesn't mean I have to like it, or start talking about it before it happens. Is that okay, kid?"

"Whatever you want, Lieutenant. It's your deal, isn't it?"

"No, it's our deal. But I guess I'm being pretty controlling, aren't I?"

"That's your right. If it was me—well, it doesn't matter, because it's not." He stood the last plate in the drainer and turned off the water. Keeping his eyes down, he dried his hands without turning away from the sink and then just stood there, not sure what to do next.

"I want to hear it, kid. What would you do?"

"I'd want to find out who my friends are. Who I can really count on, I mean. And the only way to do that is by letting people know what's going on. They'd either rally around or back off, and then I'd know who to go to when I needed them."

"Yeah, that would make sense for you. But you and Nick and Cody are the only people I can count on, and I don't have to tell them the whole story to know that. Not having a lot of friends means I get to keep my privacy just a little longer."

"You could look at it that way. But you could also not shut them out so much. You could not—" He stopped so abruptly that his teeth clicked together, a dark blush creeping up his neck.

"What is it? I could not what?"

"Nothing. I'm going to get ready for bed. Are you coming?"

"No, wait a minute." Quinlan grabbed his arm and pulled him back, reminding Murray that while he might be old and sick, he was still the strong one. "Tell me what's bothering you. You're the one in love with communication; tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"Not wrong," he sighed. "It's just that I'm not like you. I can't be brave and hold things inside like you do. I need to be able to talk to my friends about my problems, and that usually means talking to you. But it's not fair heaping my worries on you when you're so much more worried—I can't tell my sick lover how miserable it is having a lover who's sick. I need my friends, and you—you're—"

"I'm cutting off your—what do you call it—self-defense?"

"I would have said self-preservation, but yeah. Sort of. I need to be able to talk to them without worrying about betraying you. I never have before, you know. I've never gone to them when we had a fight, I've never complained about anything you do, and I'm not going to start. But this is more than I can carry by myself, and I want to share your load, not put mine on you."

"All right," Quinlan said unexpectedly. "They know now, it doesn't make any difference. You talk to them about whatever you need to. And I will, too, when it's time. But I get to decide when that is, okay? You don't get to tell me when to talk."

"Yes, of course. Whenever you want," Murray agreed, feeling vaguely stunned.

"Good. Now that we've got that settled, we can go to bed." He sent Murray off ahead and did the circuit of the house himself, like he was supposed to. Now that everything was out in the open, it was time to get things back to normal.

But it seemed less normal when they were bed, Catloaf at their feet, and, for the first time, he didn't know what to do. The brutal tech hadn't said anything about resuming sexual activity after the biopsy, and he didn't feel up to much, but he wanted to be close to Murray. He wanted to hold his lover, kiss and cuddle him and share something normal, as they always did after illnesses and injuries. The fact that this wasn't exactly _after_ only made him want it more.

His discomfort must have shown, because Murray was unusually shy and hesitant, too. He lay close enough for Quinlan to put his head on his shoulder, and the warm, thin arm around him was trembling. For some reason, it took Quinlan long minutes to begin to stroke Murray's chest, and longer still to slide down his belly and touch his still-flaccid penis. He wondered if the kid had ever taken this long to get hard before and hated himself for thinking it.

"Ted, you don't have to—I mean—if you—"

"What? You don't want me touching you?"

There was a long silence, and then Murray asked, very softly, "Doesn't it hurt? Inside?"

Quinlan swallowed hard and moved his hand back up Murray's chest.

"Some. I don't think I can get it up tonight, but I still—I want to touch you. I want to be with you."

"But you are with me."

Quinlan sighed and started to turn away. Murray caught him, kissed him, and pulled him back with surprising strength.

"Whatever you want, Ted," he whispered. "It's always been that way. But don't think that you have to do _anything _ just for me. It—it makes me feel—selfish. Coming without you, I mean."

"Well, you might have to get used to it. And I'd feel like a lot less of a man if I couldn't even give you that much."

Murray smiled, that sweet innocent smile that belied all the knowledge and desires within, and kissed him again.

"Won't it be nice," he said softly, "when the biopsy comes back negative and we can laugh about how much we worried over little things?"

"Yeah, baby, that'll be nice," Quinlan agreed and stroked his cock again. This time it filled and stiffened at once, and Ted kissed him, stealing his breath, swallowing his moans, as he brought him to a swift and joyful release.

Murray hugged him closer, tangling their legs together, smearing both their bodies with his semen and sweat. Quinlan laid his head on the skinny chest and sighed, equally pleased by Murray's orgasm and by the gentle hand that cradled his head.

"I wish I could do something for you," Murray said suddenly.

"You did. Go to sleep now, it's all right."

"Okay. I love you, Ted."

"I know, baby. I love you, too."

Murray was asleep in a matter of moments, but Quinlan lay awake much of the night, listening to him breathe and hoping that, whatever happened to _him_, Murray would be okay.

***

They knew the news was going to be bad when Dr. Huntley called them into his office the next Tuesday. All week long they'd been upbeat, pretending a confidence that neither really felt that somehow it would all turn out to be a mistake. That Ted would keep taking his antibiotics, originally intended to prevent infection after the biopsy, and just get better. But when the doctor called them at work and asked them to come in, it was the end of all their denial.

Murray called the guys to come watch the store, but Cody managed to talk Ted into letting him drive them over. He didn't want to intrude on what was almost certainly going to be a very private and emotional thing, but he also didn't want to risk either of them driving home after. Nick didn't argue the privilege, knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist demanding information, and he was already on thin ice over that as it was.

So Cody drove them to Huntley's office and waited outside in the Granada. The doctor saw them right away, in his private office rather than an exam room this time. Murray took one look at his face and reached for Quinlan's hand.

"Well, Ted," he began, trying for a comforting smile. "I have good news and bad news."

"Don't beat around the bush, Doc. Tell me what's going on."

The smile slipped a little, which was something of a relief. It hadn't really been working that well anyway.

"Well, I'm afraid that you do have cancer. The pathologist rates it at stage II, which is really the best you could have hoped for, since stage I doesn't generally show symptoms at all. But you're Gleason score is eight and your PSA is pushing two hundred, and that indicates that the tumor is more aggressive."

"More aggressive than what?"

"Than—not, I guess. More than I was hoping for. See, what we generally like to do in these stage II cases is wait and see what happens. A lot of the time, prostate cancer grows very slowly. A lot of men have it and never even know. It doesn't affect them and they live long, normal lives. But given the symptoms and the high Gleason score, not to mention your family history, I don't think that's going to be the case here. I think you need to see a urologic oncologist as soon as possible and start going over your options."

"My—options," he repeated dully. Murray was squeezing his hand so hard his arm trembled but Quinlan didn't squeeze back. He wasn't sure if he could. "Am I gonna die?"

"Everyone dies, Ted. But I don't think this is going to kill you. Not if you take care of it. Now, I've made a lot of phone calls and I found a doctor in Beverly Hills who's willing to meet with you. He isn't gay, but he's known for having the most gay-friendly practice in LA. You're probably thinking it doesn't make a difference, that organs and tumors are the same for everyone, and that's true, but that's not all there is to it. Whatever treatment you decide on is going to have a profound effect on your sex life, and you want a doctor who's sensitive to that."

"You mean I have to discuss _that_, too?"

"I think you should. You're going to find, as you get into this process, that it's all predicated on the idea of the heterosexual patient and his loving wife. But, as you may have noticed, sex between men is different from sex between men and women. The advice in the books and pamphlets they give you won't all apply. And Murray may well get tired of being referred to as the wife or girlfriend."

Murray blushed and ducked his head, and this time Ted squeezed his hand.

"How do you know all of this?" he asked. "If the average urologist whatever doesn't, why do you?"

"My father came out late in life," Huntley said matter-of-factly. "His lover was diagnosed ten years ago. The way the medical establishment treated them was just—shameful. So much so, that I would have switched to urology if I hadn't already been halfway through my residency."

"What happened to him?" Murray asked shyly.

"They used radiation therapy, because the tumor was so advanced. It didn't work well enough, and when the cancer returned, he was so angry and ashamed that he refused to go back. When it spread to his lungs, he died."

"Because the doctors weren't sympathetic about his sex life?"

"In part. Because they disregarded his needs. He wanted advice on how to continue sharing himself with the person he loved and they acted like that didn't matter. Everything changed for him, became either impossible or painful, and there was no help for it. There were no support groups for my father, either, and I think you'll find that there still aren't. The groups are for wives and girlfriends, and they won't welcome male partners. I hope you have a strong group of friends already, because you're going to need them."

"This all sounds pretty grim," Quinlan said. "I thought there was good news."

"Oh, well, I sort of mixed it in. The stage II part, and the sympathetic surgeon is the best I have to offer. That, and whatever help I can give myself."

"Huh. So, you're saying I won't be able to have sex anymore. Did I understand that right?"

"Well, it depends on what you consider sex. It will be different, but how different depends on what you normally do. For instance, if your interaction is mainly oral, it won't be affected that much."

"Huh," he said again and squeezed Murray's hand hard to stop him from volunteering information.

"I think it would be better if you discussed this with Dr. Johnston anyway. He would be the one to know what treatment will suit you best and what specific side effects relate to it."

"So you know all this other stuff, but you don't know what treatment I'm gonna need?"

"I'm afraid that's right. I think, at this point, most of the options are viable. What it will come down to is how much of what kind of misery you can stand, and what side effects you're willing to live with. They're all different, and all are potentially lifesaving."

"That's—that's really unhelpful," Murray said before Quinlan could stop him. "How much misery? _Potentially_ lifesaving? That's the best you can do?"

"I'm afraid so." Huntley's voice stayed calm, as if he'd been expecting the attack, but his eyes were filled with sadness. "I got you an appointment with Dr. Johnston for next Tuesday. It was his earliest opening. He'll be able to give you a lot more useful information. In the meantime, I want you to try and relax and stick with your normal routine. Go to work, eat regular meals, get some exercise, make love, and be sure you get plenty of sleep. Whatever course of treatment you settle on, you'll need to do those things in preparation. Dr. Johnston will be able to tell you better what to eat and that sort of thing. Just live your life and try not to worry too much."

"Right," Quinlan said, sounding bitter for the first time. "What do I have to worry about?"

"Quite a lot, really. In fact, I'm going to write you a prescription for Xanax. It's an anti-anxiety medication, in case you start having panic attacks or trouble sleeping."

"I don't believe in that stuff," he scoffed, but noticed that the doctor didn't stop writing.

"Just fill it so you'll have it on hand. You may never take any, and that's fine. But if you do, try cutting them in half to start and see if that helps. Murray, I can't justify giving you anything at this point, but you're at risk for the same kind of anxiety issues. So if you decide you want to sneak one once in a while, start with quarters. And you didn't hear that from me."

Murray nodded, his head spinning, and took the little square of paper. Later he would find it in his jacket and not remember what it was or how it got there.

"You said some people just wait and see," Quinlan said suddenly. "How does that work?"

"Well, it depends. I'm not usually a part of it; generally I've handed my patients off to urologists by then. But I think the blood work is repeated every three or four months, and the biopsy once a year or so. If the numbers don't change, they don't take any action. It's very popular with men in their seventies and eighties, who may not live long enough to benefit from aggressive treatment. But I have to say, I don't think Dr. Johnston will advise that for you. Your numbers are so high already, I'm guessing it's already moving pretty fast. If you'd had the tests a year ago, you might have waited until now to begin treatment."

"How do they stand the suspense?" Murray whispered, looking dazed.

"That's a matter of personal preference. Some men begin sooner than they might really need to, just for that reason."

"If the alternatives are misery and impotence, I'd take the suspense," Quinlan sighed.

"Yes, it's often harder on partners and loved ones. You should talk it over, but try not to worry too much. Like I said, relax as much as you can, stick to your routine, and take the Xanax if you can't sleep."

"He will," Murray said.

"Yeah, I'll try," Quinlan agreed, with a little less confidence. Then he turned to Murray and asked him to wait outside for a minute. Thick glasses magnified eyes wide with betrayal, but he was gently insistent. "Just for a couple minutes. I want to ask the doctor something and it's—it's not easy, okay?"

"Sure, whatever you need," he sighed, obviously hurt, and said goodbye to Dr. Huntley. As soon as the door closed behind him, Quinlan slid his chair closer to the desk and leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

"I feel like we're achieving new levels of trust," the doctor said lightly. "I hope Murray will be included in the future."

"He will be. I just wanted to ask—well—I—I'm still bleeding. That son of a bitch over at the hospital didn't give me any instructions or information at all and I don't know what's going on."

"I see. Is the bleeding penile or rectal?"

He was taken aback at first by the bluntness of the question, and then felt an overwhelming gratitude. Suddenly he began to understand why the right doctor was so important.

"Both. Not—not much."

"Continuous, or just when you relieve yourself?"

"No, not continuous. Is it going to stop soon?"

"Probably. The rectal bleeding should stop in a couple of days. If it doesn't, or if it isn't getting better by, say, Friday morning, you should come in. It may be that the tech was a little less careful than he should have been."

"Son of a bitch," Quinlan muttered. Some day he was going to find an opportunity to hit that guy. Or maybe shove something unpleasant up his ass while telling him it didn't hurt.

"Now the other, the penile bleeding, will continue quite a bit longer. Two or three months, maybe. It's nothing to worry about, just the reaction of an irritated urethra. If you end up having surgery, it will keep bleeding after that, too, possibly for as long as three months. So whatever happens, that's just something you'll have to live with. It won't hurt anything."

"Are you sure? Because you said that we should—or _could_—keep having sex, and I don't—I don't like—it feels like—ah, fuck it. I don't know." He rubbed his eyes tiredly and wished he'd never brought it up.

"Like a contaminate?" Huntley suggested sympathetically.

"Yeah, something like that. It just doesn't seem right." He was immensely glad to be able to say that to someone who wouldn't tell him that ass fucking wasn't right, either. The gay urologist was beginning to seem like a better idea all the time.

"I understand that you feel that way, but it isn't. You don't have HIV or any form of STD. I would suggest that you just try to think of it as any other body fluid. Maybe it seems like one that should stay inside the body, and normally I would agree, but in this case, it's not going to. And I'm sure that if you explain it to Murray, he'll understand that, too."

"Maybe you should explain it to him."

"I could, yes. But, Ted, you need to work on your communication skills. There are going to be a lot of unpleasant things in the future and this one is pretty mild. It might be a good place to start practicing."

"You're not much help, are you?" he said, but he didn't mean it. He could see that Huntley was breaking his back to help them.

"I've seen a lot of couples separate during hard times like this. But, generally speaking, a strong relationship will get stronger and a weak one will fall apart. I've seen the two of you go through a lot together, and I think you'll make it if you don't undercut yourselves now. That means you have to talk to him. Share your fears and concerns and let him help. He's a smart guy, you know, and he loves you very much."

"Yeah, I know. I just wasn't raised for this, damn it. Talking about feelings and sex and all this shit that he makes me do. I never thought sleeping with a man meant I had to act like a woman."

"It doesn't mean you have to put on a dress and learn to knit, no. But women know a few things about relationships and communication that men could stand to learn. Just give it a try. If you can't figure out how to talk about it, or he doesn't understand, have him call me."

"All right. Thanks, Doc." He stood up and shook Huntley's hand across the desk.

"No problem. You take care of yourself, Ted, and let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

He nodded and let himself out, eyes searching the waiting area for any sign of Murray. He wasn't there, or in the restroom, so Quinlan went out to the car. There he found Murray sitting on the hood beside Cody, leaning against him, shoulder to shoulder. They looked comfortable, intimate, and sudden jealousy flared in his heart. But it was his fault. He was the one who threw the kid out during what was possibly the most important conversation of their relationship to date. At least since the one about the Valiant in _Duel_, which Quinlan still considered to be a significant milestone. He went over to the car and leaned up against the grill on Murray's other side.

"You guys ready to go home?" he asked, as casually as he could.

"Yeah, I'm ready," Cody said, sliding off the hood. Murray put a tentative hand on Ted's shoulder, almost as if he expected to be shaken off, and then leaned on him as he got down.

"Did the doctor have the information you wanted?" he asked. Quinlan nodded and Murray didn't ask any more questions.

"I'll tell you about it when we get home," he said, almost pleading, and Murray's shrug was a sharp rebuke. Cody started to say something, probably intending to tell Murray to ease up, and Quinlan shot him a look that stopped the words in his throat. This was between them, and interfering wasn't going to help.

Murray got in the back seat, his face blank and unreadable, and Quinlan decided to sit up front.

"You guys need to stop anywhere on the way home?" Cody asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"The drugstore," Murray said, at the same time that Quinlan said, "No."

"So which is it?"

"The drugstore," Murray said again, and this time Quinlan nodded.

"After that, do you want to go home or back to the store?"

"Home, I guess," Quinlan said. He was going to have to start practicing that communication as soon as possible, and he didn't want to do it in public. "You guys can close up whenever you want and just take the receipts home with you. We'll pick 'em up in the morning."

"Okay." Cody glanced at Murray in the mirror, then cleared his throat. "Is there anything you want to talk about, Ted? We could come by this evening…"

"No, I—I just need to talk to Murray. There won't be anything definite to gossip about until next week."

"Okay," he said again, wishing it really was. Or that he at least had a better word. "I guess the news wasn't good."

"He didn't tell you?" Quinlan asked, surprised. There was a rather huffy sigh from the back seat, and both of them smiled faintly.

"No, we were just sitting there. He wouldn't say a word."

"Oh. Well, it's good and bad. Early stage cancer, but aggressive, so the torture's probably going to start soon." He spoke lightly, as if it was a joke, but Cody could see that Quinlan was in pain. After a very brief pause, Murray leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on Ted's shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Lieutenant," he whispered.

"I know, baby," Quinlan said, covering the slender hand with his own.

***

Cody dropped them off and left without going inside. He knew Nick would be anxious for word, and Quinlan had given him permission to share, so long as it didn't go any farther.

"So, what was so private you couldn't talk about it in front of me?" Murray asked when they were safely in the house. Quinlan had expected more anger, more sarcasm, and Murray's quiet hurt stabbed his heart.

"Kid, I'm trying, but you know this shit is hard for me. Just talking about it at all is bad enough. I don't need witnesses."

"Sure. Like I've said all along, it's your deal."

"Don't, Murray. Don't make this harder for me. Just sit down and we'll talk, okay?"

"If you want to."

"Damn it, don't you always get your way?" he said furiously. "I just needed to sort some shit out so I'd know what to say to you. I'm allowed to do that; it ain't a crime."

Murray cowered, but his wounded resolve didn't waver. He sank down on the sofa and waited.

"I—I needed to ask about—about the bleeding. I was hoping it would go away," he said quietly, sitting on the other end of the couch. "I wasn't sure if we should be having sex while I'm shooting blood like this. And if it bothers you that I didn't want to talk about it in front of you, I'm sorry. I've just been really—worried—and then he brought it up—that we should be making love while we can—and I didn't know what to say."

"What did he say about the bleeding? Will it stop soon?"

"No. He said it could last for months, and if I have surgery, it'll last for months after that. But it's okay. At least, he says it is. I just—I felt like—oh hell, I don't know."

"Yes, you do," Murray said gently. He slid closer, picked up Ted's hand and kissed it softly. "Please tell me how you feel. Why didn't you tell me you were worried about this? I didn't even know that it was still happening."

"I really hate it, kid. It makes me feel old. Old and sick and—dirty. And I didn't want to—contaminate you. How would you feel about that, sucking me off and getting a mouth full of blood?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a very nice surprise," he said slowly. "But now that I know, I think it would be okay. It's just your blood; it's never bothered me before. Don't I lick it off your neck when you cut yourself shaving?"

"And you don't think this is different?"

"Maybe, but it's okay. And I don't suck you that often anyway. If we're going to do things we might not be able to do later, then I think fucking me would be a better use of your time and erections, don't you?"

Quinlan laughed almost shyly, and Murray kissed him again.

"You're really something, kid. What'd I ever do to deserve you?"

"God must really like you, Lieutenant. So, is that everything? A little urethral bleeding?"

"Pretty much. I'm sorry. I should have known you'd understand."

"Yes, and I shouldn't have gotten so jealous."

"Jealous?" Quinlan repeated, surprised.

"That you wanted to talk to someone besides me. Without me. That never happens, and I guess I've just gotten too used to being the most important person in your life. It's hard to accept that that's going change."

"No, it isn't. You're always gonna be the most important person in my life. But sometimes I'm gonna want to try and protect you from things. At least the first part, when I'm working shit out. But you know I'll bring it to you when I'm ready."

"Yeah, I know. I'm really sorry I was such a jerk. I just—I was scared that it was really important—I mean like a new symptom or something—and you weren't going to tell me about it. I'm just so scared all the time. I feel like—" He bit his tongue suddenly and thought for a second. "No, this is one of those things I shouldn't tell you."

"If it bothers you that much, you probably should. What is it, baby?" Murray tried to turn away and Quinlan pulled him into his arms, cradling him in his lap.

"I'm afraid you'll die and I won't be able to stop it. Like you can control it, and you might choose to leave me. I wish it was me, Ted, I really do. I don't know how to keep you alive and it scares me so much..."

"I know it does," he whispered, pressing Murray's face against his chest with one hand. "And if it _was_ you, I'd feel the same way. I'd wish and pray that it was me instead. But we don't get to choose. You just have to take care of me the best you can and believe me when I say that I don't ever want to leave you. I'd never choose that, baby. Never."

"But you said before that if it hurt too much—you said you might not be able to take it. You were talking about suicide."

"Murray, if it ever comes to that, you won't want me around by then anyway. Just forget that, okay? I'm gonna get better. You heard what the doctor said. It's still early, there are a lot of options."

"Ted, will you promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Take the most aggressive treatment. Even if it means you never get another erection in your life, even if we never have sex again, go for the cure. Please."

"I'm not going to take any stupid chances just for sex, but I don't want to give up more than I have to."

"I don't care, Ted. Just get well. Don't leave me."

"All right, baby, calm down. We'll do the right thing, I promise. I won't leave you."

"You might," he whispered, burrowing his face into Quinlan's shoulder. Ted pried him away just enough to take his glasses off and then squeezed him so tightly that Murray could hardly breathe.

"And you could leave me. Bad things happen, kid, you know that, but we do our best."

"No, Lieutenant, I'd never leave you. No matter what."

"I don't mean that. I know you wouldn't on purpose. But you could get sick as easy as I could, or have an accident. Shit happens. Just because I'm older and I have cancer, that doesn't mean you're guaranteed to outlive me."

"That's a terrible thought," he said, his words muffled by Quinlan's shirt. "What would you do without me?"

"I don't know. Right now, the only thing I'm sure of is what I want to do _with_ you."

"What's that?"

"What do you think, genius? Come on, let's go spend the rest of the day in bed."

Murray sat up and frowned at his watch.

"That's not very long."

"So, we'll stay there all night, too."

Murray smiled, the most genuine expression of pleasure to grace his features all that day, and followed him into the bedroom. They undressed each other slowly, taking time to kiss and touch, experiencing it as if it were new. Quinlan lay back and let Murray straddle him, which still got him harder, faster than anything they'd ever done. The sight of that slender body towering over him, one lithe hand wrapped around Ted's cock, the other stroking his chest, made him feel that no matter what else happened, he would be happy if he could just have this. Murray was smiling down on him, half blind without his glasses, but able to feel Quinlan's pleasure in every nerve.

"What would you like?" he whispered, flexing his fingers and extending his grip to include both of their shafts.

"You here to serve me, kid?"

"In every way."

"Then you know what I want." Quinlan ran his hands up the narrow thighs and around Murray's hips, arching his back and thrusting slowly into the gentle hand. The combined friction of Murray's hand and cock on either side of his own was almost as good as what he was really waiting for. Murray teased it out until Ted was almost impossibly hard, made him sweat and whimper on the verge of begging, and then reached for the lube.

"Wait a minute, kid," he said roughly, almost against his will. "You don't want to do that no-prep thing this time. I don't have the patience."

"How much patience would it take?"

"More than I have." He snatched the tube away and slicked his fingers, then pulled Murray down flat against his chest. Both of them groaned as their cocks pressed together, trapped between their bodies, and then Murray was kissing him, rocking eagerly as a single finger pressed inside. It didn't take long for even that to exhaust Quinlan's thin control and he broke the kiss, pushing Murray upright and hurriedly lubing his shaft.

"Are you ready?" Murray smiled, shivering with anticipation.

"Way past ready." He held Murray's hips, trying not to force it as the younger man pushed him in. "Oh, baby, that's good," he sighed. For the first time in days he wasn't thinking about the diagnoses or the blood or anything except the incredible heat enveloping him, so silky and tight there wasn't room for anything else in his mind. Murray gripped Quinlan's hands to ground himself and rode him hard, rising up on his knees for long strokes, and dropping down fast, making that thick cock hit his gland every time. He almost felt bad, taking pleasure in his own healthy prostate, but the hard, deep thrusts and rhythmically clenching muscles would have more than made up for it, if his partner had shared his doubts.

"Is this right?" he whispered. "Is this what you want, _Lieutenant_?" The quiet emphasis on that last word nearly finished him, and Quinlan had to close his eyes to keep control.

"God, yes," he groaned. "That's just—just—_exactly_—what I wanted."

"So," Murray said, driving him deep and rocking with enthusiasm, "the next question is, how long do you want it to last? I can make you come in two minutes or twenty."

"It can't—can't always be about me. What do you want?"

"To hear you scream."

"Make it last," he sighed and took hold of Murray's cock, feeling him get tighter as he stroked.

"Whatever you say, _sir_." He felt the thick shaft within him twitch at that and slowed his rocking. He changed to a shorter thrust, teasing his own gland to keep himself excited without overwhelming Quinlan. After a moment, the lieutenant sat up and hugged him close, capturing his mouth in a kiss. It started out gentle and turned hungry in seconds, hot and wet and sloppy, and Murray couldn't resist pushing his cock against Quinlan's belly, suddenly fucking him with abandon.

"That's not gonna make it last," Ted murmured, biting his throat.

"Neither's that."

"Do your best, baby. You always do," he said, and went back to raising bruises on Murray's neck.

Murray knew in two minutes that he was at the end of his rope and made himself pull off, bucking against Quinlan's chest as he came.

"What was that?"

"Making it last, _sir_," he said and cheerfully impaled himself again.

"Holy fuck, are you clever."

Murray was hard again in moments, and this time he went all the way, fucking and biting, his hands digging into Quinlan's back, slipping in sweat and still leaving bruises the length of his fingers. But he wanted them to come together this time, so whenever he felt Ted getting close, he rose up on his knees and held still until the crisis had passed.

Quinlan understood and breathed through it as best he could, then jerked the skinny body back down hard, slamming into him, gripping his cock and rubbing it firmly in the sticky-slick semen between them. The faster he could bring Murray off, the sooner he could come, and he wasn't sure he'd ever wanted that more in his life. He latched onto the pulse point in Murray's throat and sucked hard, feeling the vibration of his eager moans.

"Oh, _fuck_, Ted. _Fuck_. If you come first…"

"See to it I don't," he growled and began sucking a second bruise just below the first one. Murray fixed the angle a little and pounded him hard, crying out at every blow to his tender gland, and when Quinlan began running his thumb over the head of his cock, tugging and teasing, Murray came with a strangled scream. His muscles clenched impossibly tight and he kept rocking, sobbing as Quinlan exploded inside him.

"Oh, baby," he moaned and collapsed on the bed. Murray managed to sit up long enough to ease him out, then lay down on his chest and nuzzled his throat.

"That was what you wanted?"

"Murray, baby, everything you've ever done has been just what I wanted." He was smiling, but there were tears in his eyes and Murray kissed him softly. "I'm gonna miss this so much."

"I know. But there'll be more chances. We still have time. And we'll always make love somehow, I promise."

"Sure. I bet thinking about today will still be helping me get it up years from now."

"It'll do it for me," Murray said, sliding off him to curl up at his side. "You want to take a shower?"

"In a minute. Maybe ten."

"Maybe we should have a little nap."

"Good thinking." He knew Murray really meant _you need a nap_, but was too kind to say it. Either way, the kid wouldn't leave him and that was what mattered.

An offended looking cat leapt onto the bed and settled down at their feet, glaring as if daring them to start up all that racket again. They slept for nearly half an hour and then went to shower, both pretending not to notice the smears of blood streaking their thighs. Murray had to admit, if only to himself, that he would have been a little freaked out if he hadn't been warned in advance, but as it was, it didn't bother him. They washed each other with loving care, tender but not sexual this time, and put on their pajamas.

Murray called for a pizza, and then Nick called to ask how they were doing. He'd wanted to come over and see for himself, but Cody had managed to talk him out of it. Murray assured him that everything was fine, Quinlan was in good spirits and they were just sitting down to watch a sitcom before the eight o'clock manly movie came on. Tonight was _Rooster Cogburn_, which, like most of the testosterone films Ted loved, Murray had never seen.

He told Nick that they would be over to pick up the cash bag in the morning, as agreed on, and the guys wouldn't have to come over until lunch. Nick had his doubts that a man who'd just gotten a definitive diagnosis of aggressive cancer would want to go to work as usual the next day, but he decided not to argue. He just wouldn't be surprised if Murray called in the morning to take it back.

"They're not buying it?" Quinlan asked when he hung up the phone.

"I don't think so. But it's okay. They'll relax when they see how well we're doing." He slipped his arm around Ted's waist and kissed his neck softly. "I love you, Lieutenant."

"Love you, too, kid. And you're right. We'll show them the old man and the geek can handle things just fine."

Murray leaned down to kiss him again, so filled with pride in his brave lover that it couldn't be contained. He backed Quinlan against the sink and held him there as his cock began to stir.

"Hold on, kiddo," Ted laughed. "Pizza guy'll be here in a minute and you don't want to go to the door with a hard on."

"Maybe he'll be cute," Murray shrugged. "Or he'll think I _really_ like pizza."

"Go put on your robe at least."

Murray kissed him one more time and went to do just that. He needed it, anyway. Last Christmas, Ted had given him three sets of washable silk pajamas, and while he loved the feel, the texture and the drape, they were a little bit thin. His robe wasn't silk, but it wasn't that coarse brown thing he used to wear on the boat. It was black ribbed velour, chosen for him by a more fashion conscious homosexual who worked at _Nordstrom_, and kept him warm no matter what he wore under it. He got some money from his wallet in the bedroom, put it in the pocket of his robe, and turned on the TV to see what sitcom they'd be watching.

"Ooh, _Night Court_'s on."

Quinlan came out of the kitchen with two cans of beer and handed him one, pretending not to see his disapproving expression.

"Lieutenant, do you really think you should be drinking?" Murray asked, trying not to sound like a nag and feeling like a hypocrite.

"Huntley said to relax. And he didn't say not to drink."

"Yes, but—"

"If Johnston tells me not to, I'll quit, okay? It's just one week. Now come here and watch your show."

Murray was torn for a few seconds, and then the doorbell rang. He put his beer can on the footlocker and went to get the pizza.

"Hey, Boz," the delivery guy said happily. A lot of the drivers made fun of the two queers and a lot of cruel jokes were told at their expense back at _Gina Maria's Pizza_, especially when they answered the door in their pajamas or were obviously just out of the shower. But Andy Reichard liked them and Murray tipped outrageously, so he always volunteered when the calls came in.

"Hi, Andy. How's business?"

"Busy, for a Wednesday. That's, uh, thirteen twenty-five."

Murray gave him a twenty and told him to keep the change.

"Thanks, Boz. You guys are _so_ my favorite customers. Have a good night."

"You too, Andy."

"You tip too much," Quinlan remarked as he set the pizza box on the footlocker.

"We need friends, Lieutenant. Remember when I first moved in here and the pizzas were always messed up? I thought they were just getting it wrong, and you said no, they were doing it on purpose. We had to stop ordering from _Sheila's_ altogether."

"Yeah, but that was years ago. I think you can stop bribing them now."

"But if I do that, they'll be disappointed and they might take it out on us. Or our pizza, at least. Anyway, I like Andy. He's a physics major, and the sciences are expensive. There are a lot of lab and equipment fees."

"Fine, put the kid through college if you want. It's your money. Just sit down and eat already."

"One second," he said and went to get napkins. When he came back, he saw Quinlan sitting there in his t-shirt and sweatpants, beer in one hand and pizza in the other, laughing at a raunchy joke, and was struck all over again by how lucky he was. Maybe no one else would have seen it, but Murray didn't care. It just meant that he had this perfect picture of manhood all to himself.

"What's wrong, kid?"

"Oh, nothing. Just lost in thought. You know how I do that." He sat down and dropped the napkins on the sofa between them. Opened his beer, got a slice of pizza, and sat back to watch TV.

"Lieutenant, is this enough?" he asked after a moment.

"Is what enough what?"

"This. If you couldn't do the other things you love, but you could still drink beer and watch TV with me like this, would it be enough?"

"Yeah, well, there isn't much else I really love to do. I guess it would. But let's not strip down my life just yet, okay?"

"Sure. Sorry."

Murray fell silent and Quinlan found himself thinking about Chas Bowman and the bayonet. Nick was worried about Murray having nerve damage and losing the use of his hand; had even said that he would rather be paralyzed than unable to type. Quinlan knew that wasn't so. He could hire someone to type, but if he was paralyzed he couldn't buy a way to walk or make love. But what he'd said was something about Murray being so determined, he would lean to type with his nose if he had to.

They'd been so casual about stripping away his life and livelihood that day, all for nothing. Except for a mild ache in the bones where the plates held them together, Murray had suffered no ill effects at all. Even the dreams had stopped after Chas was killed in prison.

But then, Murray was a happy guy. Hopeful was his default setting. Quinlan thought about that, and about how much he'd changed since this happy, hopeful little miracle had dropped into his lap, and he wondered if it was enough to see him through. He reached over and tickled the soft spot between Murray's ribcage and hipbone, where he was so sensitive he could feel it even through his robe. Murray flinched in surprise and snorted beer out his nose. But when he turned to the lieutenant, eyes streaming, holding a napkin to his face, he was laughing and Quinlan had to laugh, too.

"I'm sorry, kid," he said sincerely. "I just _had_ to see what would happen."

"You knew what would happen," Murray reminded him and blew his nose with a poorly disguised wince.

"Yeah, but I had to _see_ it. It makes me happy when you laugh."

"Okay, but next time, let me swallow first. Carbonation stings, you know."

"Sorry," he said again, and Murray knew he meant it, even though he was still grinning. It was worth the burning sinuses to see Ted laugh like that today.


	3. Support

For the next week, Quinlan avoided talking about the diagnosis and the upcoming appointment. They went to work like always, but most days they stayed at the store during lunch and ate sandwiches with Nick and Cody instead of going out. Quinlan took the tranquilizer twice, when he woke in the night from dreams that he wouldn't talk about after, and found that it was nice to be hazy and slightly stoned in the dark, safe in Murray's arms. But he tried to keep from enjoying it too much, and only took them in halves so Murray wouldn't be too concerned.

One evening, when Quinlan was in the shower, Murray shut himself in his office and called his mother. He'd put off telling his family, not because he didn't think they'd be interested, but because they loved Ted too much now and he couldn't bear to hurt them. His mother had worried nonstop for the first year, fearful that her sweet, trusting son was in over his head with the hard-nosed cop, but that had gradually worn away until Quinlan was like a son himself. Marta knitted him sweaters and Matthew called to talk about baseball teams and the World Series, always saying that they were going to see it in person one day. Murray thought about that as he dialed the phone, whether Ted would ever see a World Series game, or even see Murray's parents again.

"Hi, Mama," he said, wishing he'd prepared himself better. His voice was hoarse with sudden tears and he swallowed hard.

"Murray? Sweetie, what's wrong?" she asked, instantly on Full Mom Alert.

"Does something have to be wrong for me to call my parents?"

"It does at nine-thirty in the evening. You know we old folks go to bed early."

"You're not old, Mama."

"Is that what you called to tell me?" Her tone had changed subtly, as if she already knew and was just waiting for him to confirm it. Somehow that made it much easier to say the words.

"No, Mama, it's—well, it's Ted. There's no really good way to say this, but he—he has cancer. Prostate cancer."

"Oh, Murray, no," she breathed. "Is it—no, that's stupid, of course it's bad. But, how bad is it? Will he be all right?"

"I—I hope so. We just got the diagnosis a couple of days ago and we still have to meet with the surgeon to go over his options. It's early, so that's good. He'll almost certainly beat it, if nothing else goes wrong. It's just—I'm so _scared_, Mommy. I love him so much and I'm _so_ scared." He took off his glasses and covered his eyes with one hand. He hadn't meant to say that, and he didn't want to cry, but suddenly he needed his mother with the helpless, primal need of a frightened child.

"Do you want us to come out there?" she asked at once. She and Matthew were both retired now and for a moment Murray's heart swelled with hope. Then reason took over and he shook his head.

"No, that's not—I'd love to see you, and I know Ted would, too, normally. But he's feeling really shy about this and I—I'm not sure he'd even want me telling you. I just thought you'd want to know, in case—I don't know. I guess I just needed to." He sighed and choked back a sob.

"I understand, sweetie. When I had my hysterectomy I felt the same way. But you're right, I want to know what's going on. And you tell Ted that we're here for him, okay? Anything you need, anytime you want us, just call and we'll come right away."

"I know, Mama, I will. And Ted will be glad to hear it. I—I'll have him call you when he's feeling better. I know he'll appreciate the support. He—he thinks of you as family, you know. There aren't many people he loves, but he loves you and Daddy and Baba very much. I guess I wanted to make sure you knew that that."

"Yes, we know. And you tell him for me that he _is_ our family and we love him, too."

Murray said he would and they managed to talk about other things for a few minutes, before he hung up and let her go to bed. Ted would be out of the shower soon, if he wasn't already, and _Paint Your Wagon_ was on at eight.

***

On Saturday night, Nick and Cody took them to dinner at _Straightaway's_ and a handful of people dropped by the table to ask Quinlan how he was doing. The guys denied having said anything, but it turned out their friends were guessing based on his recent absences from work. He told them all that he was fine and didn't offer any details.

Tuesday morning, Nick opened the store alone while Cody drove them to Beverly Hills. How he had become their official driver wasn't really clear, but Quinlan, much as he liked Nick, thought it was for the best. Cody was more patient in traffic and in waiting rooms, and less likely to push for answers that Ted didn't want to give, and that Cody probably didn't really want to hear. His reluctance to deal with painful subjects meant that he could just drive and talk about trivial things, when he felt the need to talk at all. Murray hoped that Nick understood. It wasn't that they thought he loved them less, it was that he loved too passionately.

This time, Cody went inside and sat with them while Murray and Quinlan filled out the paperwork together. This wasn't like Dr. Huntley's office in the medical complex at home. This was one building, one office, one man. So far as they could tell, every staff member was male, and so was every patient in the waiting room. Many of them were obviously gay, some flamingly so, and a few were holding hands. Cody hadn't understood the need to seek out this particular doctor, believing that cancer was cancer, and a urologist was a urologist, but as soon as he sat down, he felt oddly comfortable. At least, as comfortable as he ever felt around seriously ill people.

"What do you think?" he asked Quinlan when Murray went to turn in the paperwork at the desk.

"I think I'm in the right place," he whispered. "Even if I feel positively _straight_ next to some of these guys." He nodded toward a young man in a glittery shirt and high heels, who was sitting with his arm around an older man who was dressed all in leather, bald headed under his imitation engineer's cap. Quinlan knew it was fake because engineers never wore leather caps; the heat would have killed them.

"It's nice that you found a community somewhere," Cody grinned, and if they'd been alone, Quinlan would have told him to fuck off. As it was, he laughed a little, and then Murray came back. He sat down, nodding politely to the man on his other side, and touched Ted's arm reassuringly. The man beside him leaned over and cleared his throat politely, so Murray turned back.

"Hi," he said politely.

"Hi. Are you a new patient? I'm sorry if I'm being too forward, but we all kind of get to know each other, coming here all the time. You know they have chemo and radiation labs on-site, so we don't have to go to the hospital, and that means we spend a lot of time together. I'm Steve, by the way."

"Oh, yes, I—that is we—we're new. I'm sorry, I'm a little overwhelmed. I'm Murray, and this is Ted. He's the—the patient. We didn't know the labs were here, though. That's a real break. The last hospital we went to, where they did the biopsy, was a nightmare."

"Tell me about it," Steve said rhetorically. "When I had my first one, the tech actually asked me if it felt good."

Quinlan snorted and they both turned to him in surprise, Steve looking a little apprehensive. He'd pegged Murray as gay from the start, but the other one looked like a stern father, or maybe a disapproving uncle.

Seeing his expression and not wanting to alienate the poor guy from the start, Quinlan managed to smile.

"I'm sorry, that was just too familiar. The guy that did mine wouldn't give me any anesthetic. Said I should be used to it."

"I know, they're so _ignorant_," Steve said in disgust. "I told him I was a top and he didn't even know what that meant."

The man on his other side reached over and took his hand.

"Honey, what do you expect?" he said, and they could tell it was an old repetition.

"Yes, I know. Oh, I'm sorry. Murray, Ted, this is my partner, Rick."

"Pleased to meet you," Rick said, half rising to shake their hands. "Considering the circumstances, I mean." Then he noticed Cody listening and offered him his hand. "What about you, cutie? Patient or partner?"

"Huh? Oh, neither," he said, giving the proffered hand a polite squeeze. "I'm really just the driver. We're from King Harbor and—well," he felt incredibly faggy for thinking what he was thinking, but one more look at the kid in the glitter shirt made it possible for him say it. "It's kind of a rough time for Ted, so I thought Murray ought to be free to focus on him instead of worrying about traffic."

"Oh, aren't you sweet."

"Yeah, well, Murray's not that great a driver anyway," he said, lest he get too much credit. "So, are you from here in town?"

"West Hollywood. But Rob and Tippy," he went on, nodding toward leather man and glitter boy, "are from Manhattan Beach, so you guys might be able to carpool. You know, if you ever need a ride. Paul and Other Steve are in Bel Air, and Blond Rick and David come all the way up from Lynwood."

Everyone offered a nod or a wave when they heard their names, and Murray was impressed.

"You guys really do all know each other."

"Yeah, it's kind of like a support group, only it's in the waiting room. That's kind of why we're all here at the same time. We'll be in and out all day, and anyone who isn't too sick or tired from treatment will go to lunch together."

"The doctor that sent us said there weren't any support groups," Quinlan said, feeling he needed to contribute something.

"Officially, there aren't. The American Cancer Society doesn't even recognize the needs of gay men and their partners. But when people are in pain, you can't stop them from getting together and trying to help each other. We're all in the same boat, right? Even you, Cody. You care about these guys, right? They didn't hire you with a newspaper ad, did they?"

"No," he said, realizing he'd left a lot out. "No, Murray's been one of my best friends for years. We met in the Army. And Ted was one of my favorite enemies almost from the time I moved to King Harbor."

"Ooh, I smell a juicy story," glitter boy said, leaning forward and letting his partner rest against his back.

"Tippy, is it?" Cody asked and he nodded. "Yeah, Ted was a cop and he drove us crazy. Everything from parking tickets to fire code violations to accusations of murder. And he's a dirty fighter, too. He'll offer to shake hands and then kneecap you when you let your guard down."

"Shut up, Allen," he said good-naturedly. "I haven't done that in years."

"He mellowed out a lot when he started dating Murray."

"And you all became friends? That's so sweet," Tippy said, sounding for all the world like a fifteen year old girl.

"Why'd you give Cody such a hard time?" Steve asked with a wicked little smile. "Unrequited crush?"

"On him? Not hardly," Quinlan said dismissively. "He had his man and I didn't want any part of them." He paused a moment, debating how honest he wanted to be, and decided to go for broke. After all, he'd either be spending a lot of time here and may as well be friends, or he'd never see them again. His limited knowledge of treatment options didn't permit any alternatives. "Murray was living with them and I wanted him. But he wanted them, or maybe just one of them, and they didn't want him. Not that way, at least."

Half of the room looked sympathetic and the other half disbelieving, telling him pretty clearly who did committed relationships and who didn't.

"Wait," Tippy said, his eyes fixed on Murray. "You were living with a couple and not sleeping with them?"

"Yeah," Murray said, confused. "Cody and Nick have been together for years. We were business partners and they let me live with them, but they didn't want to be a threesome."

"And you didn't like Ted?"

"He was mean to us. But after I got to know him a little, I started to understand."

"Understand what?" leather Rob asked, showing interest for the first time. Murray and Quinlan exchanged a look and Ted was elected to continue.

"That I was jealous. His friends had more love than they could even use and I was the loneliest, most pathetic son of a bitch in all of Redondo Beach. After Murray decided to be my friend, I just didn't feel so mean anymore."

"Okay, I've changed my mind," Tippy said dreamily. "_That's_ the sweetest thing I've ever heard. Isn't that sweet, Robby?"

"It's adorable, baby," the leather clad man agreed.

"You're lucky you made some friends before you got your diagnosis," Steve said seriously. "I've seen men come in here alone and they all look the same, like little kids who've just lost their whole family in a house fire. A lot of them don't make it."

"I'd have shot myself a week ago," Quinlan said, and that didn't get nearly as much of a surprised reaction as Cody and Nick not wanting to sleep with Murray.

"That's happened," the guy called Blond Rick said. "One of my best friends in the group OD'ed on Xanax when he found out the cancer had spread to his bones. He was a stage four diagnosis, though."

"So am I," Rob said defiantly. "Pussy Dave was just that—a pussy."

"He was all alone," Rick said, and Blond Rick agreed. "That's why we stick together. I know it's early, but you guys should hang out and go to lunch with us. There's a _Denny's_ down the street where they don't let the kids hassle us." He cut his eyes at Tippy and Murray smiled.

"If Ted feels like it," he said.

A male nurse came in with a wheelchair and took Rob and Tippy away, presumably to the chemo lab, and everyone was quiet for a moment. Then Steve leaned closer and filled them in.

"He's not going to make it. He's just riddled with tumors. The chemo's kind of a last ditch to try and shrink them a little, since the radiation didn't work. Now that he's got Tippy to look after, he just won't quit."

"Does—does Tippy know?" Murray whispered.

"Yeah. They both do, and they both pretend for the other's sake. They're really great guys."

"What—what stage are you?"

"Three. But I'm getting better. The radiation's miserable, but it's working. No mets so far, and the tumor is shrinking."

"Mets?"

"Metastasized tumors. It hasn't spread, is what I mean."

"Oh. That's good news," Murray said sincerely. He was glad that at least one of the people in this room had a shot. Then a nurse called for Ted, and he and Murray got up, holding hands now, to follow him.

***

"Mr. Quinlan, is it?" the doctor said cheerfully, looking from one to the other.

"Ted. And this is Murray. I hope you don't mind if he stays," he said, sounding as if he didn't care much what the answer was. After the technician in the hospital, he refused to expect much or let anyone push him around.

"No, not if that's what you want. Murray is your partner, then?"

They both nodded, tensing a little in spite of all the encouragement from the waiting men.

"Good. Support from your loved ones is the second most important part of the process."

"What's the first?" Ted asked.

"Good medical care, of course. And that's what I'm for. Now, do you have any questions before we get started?"

"No, I just want to get on with it."

"Murray?"

He was surprised to be included and just shook his head. Then he remembered something that he didn't want to forget to ask.

"Are there any books you can recommend? I'd really like to—to read up on—things. Be prepared."

"I have a whole reading list, but most people don't have the patience to get through it. I'd be happy to give it to you before you go, and there's a bookstore downtown that carries them, but some of them are expensive. And the medical jargon can be a little—dense."

"Don't worry about that," Quinlan laughed. "Kid got his friggin' PhD when he was fifteen or something. He writes dense books for fun."

"Is that right? What's your field?"

"Computers. I'm a—a programmer. I write software, design robots, geeky things like that."

"Oh, _that's_ where I know you from. You're Murray Bozinsky, aren't you? I'm sorry, Dr. Huntley didn't fill me in on all the details."

"That's all right. I don't get recognized much anymore. Ted just likes to brag when he has a chance."

"Who wouldn't?" Quinlan said, squeezing his hand. "Anytime a guy gets someone this much above him, he's gonna brag."

"Yes, he is," the doctor said, smiling with relief. "And I have to say that you _are_ lucky. Having a strong relationship with a loving partner is important, and when that partner is interested in your care and intelligent enough to really contribute, it actually improves your chances of achieving a cure."

"That doesn't surprise me. Kid's saved my life before. So tell me how we're gonna save it now."

"All right, down to business. I've read your file and looked at the results of your biopsy, and there are a lot of possible treatments. Have you looked into the options at all?"

"Not really. I don't know anything about it, and Murray wanted to get some books from the library, but it's a small town and we're not—we haven't…"

"You're trying to keep it a secret?"

"Something like that."

"Well, that'll work for a while. But whatever course you decide on, you're going to need the support of your friends, and word will get out."

"I know that. I just want to know for sure what's gonna happen before people start talking about it, so I don't have to keep correcting gossip."

"All right, then. Here's what I'm thinking. With your PSA and Gleason score, I don't think you can afford to put off treatment. Sometimes men go for months or years with what we call the watchful waiting option, but I can't recommend that for you."

"Yeah, Dr. Huntley said it was—aggressive."

"That's right. But it probably hasn't spread beyond the prostate yet, which means you have options. Each one has its pros and cons, and what you do is up to you. That's the important thing, Ted. You have to make an informed decision."

"Okay, so stop teasing me. What are the options? What do you recommend?"

"Well, surgery is your best chance for a complete cure. We remove the entire prostate and the cancer is gone, just like that. I often recommend a short course of radiation for all but the very earliest stages, just to be sure, but that's strictly optional."

"What're the cons to this complete cure?" he asked, as if he had no idea.

"Well, there are quite a few."

Quinlan was starting to wonder if all doctors started every sentence with the word _well_.

"The most obvious, of course, is the possibility of sexual impotence and urinary incontinence. Now, we have a relatively new nerve sparing technique, which might preserve erectile function. It doesn't always work, and even when it does, it can take up to two years to get full function back, but it does happen. With radiation, which I would consider your second best option, the opposite is true. You lose potency gradually, over a period of months after the treatment begins, and it may not return."

"Ever?" Quinlan asked, swallowing hard.

"That's right."

"And that's my second best option? What's the third?"

"Well, the third is chemotherapy. It's your best chance for retaining sexual function, but there are a lot of physical side effects, like hair loss, mouth sores, loss of appetite—and it's not as likely to achieve a cure as the other two options."

"So you think surgery?"

"It's your best chance for a cure," he repeated. "But only you can decide what's best for you."

"How can anything other than a cure be what's best?" Murray asked.

"It depends on what the patient wants out of life and what kind of chances he wants to take. A lot of older men, and by that I mean over seventy-five, opt for chemo because there are fewer sexual and urinary side-effects, and they aren't so worried about the cancer coming back. Younger men are more interested in a cure, but they also want some assurance of a future sex life."

"So there's no good answer," Quinlan sighed.

"There's no _perfect_ answer, no. But I would say surgery is your best option. I would try to save the nerves, and over time, function would probably return. And if it doesn't, or until it does, you can still have an intimate relationship. You don't need an erection to achieve orgasm, and you can still enjoy penetration, to a certain extent, if you're the receptive partner."

"Not usually," he said, feeling stunned. "But I suppose, if Murray wanted to…"

"It'll be okay," Murray said, stroking his thigh. "We can work it out. I just want to see you cured."

"Doc, does that—do relationships—last through all this? Don't men, the healthy men, get tired of it? Not having real sex and putting up with all the shit? How many of your patients break up over it?"

"Well, I don't have statistics on that. But a few do. I've also had patients in the middle of treatment start relationships that turned out well. As I said, it depends on the couple. If you're asking me if Murray's going to leave you, I can't answer that."

"Lieutenant, stop it," Murray said quietly. "I didn't leave you when you died, I won't leave you now."

"When you died?" Johnston asked.

"Not long after we got together, I had to go undercover. Government faked my death and put the poor kid through hell."

"Really? Murray, how did you handle that?"

"I cried a lot. And when he came back, we moved in together. I never dated anyone else, I never slept with anyone else, I just sat around and waited for him."

"Well, Ted, I'd say that in that case, you're less likely to break up than a lot of couples I see."

"Unless this is the straw that breaks the camel's back. But forget all that. Tell me more about the surgery. Tell me what happens after."

So Dr. Johnston explained about the recovery, the chances of regaining bladder control, and why he thought radiation might be a good idea.

"But radiation would put an end to all possibility of erectile function?" Murray asked.

"Well," he began, and Murray shivered involuntarily. He was tired of that word, too, and while they would laugh about it later, right now he wanted to scream. "It usually does, but it can depend on the duration of the radiation therapy and how well aimed the beams are. A very short course, say ten treatments over two weeks—maybe not."

"Two weeks?"

"The average is seven to ten, but if there's no sign that it's spread and you just want to be sure, then two weeks is reasonable."

"But if the surgery gets it all, I wouldn't need radiation at all."

"That's right."

"And how would you know? If you got it all, I mean?"

"Well, I would take out a couple of the nearest lymph glands and have them biopsied. If they came up negative, then we'd know it hadn't spread."

"And if they were positive?" Quinlan asked, his voice firm and steady.

"Then we'd revisit our options. I would recommend radiation at that point, unless you were set against it."

"Shit. This is a lot to—it's just a lot."

"I know it is. Here, I'm going to give you some informational packets, and that reading list we talked about. But you should try and reach a decision as soon as possible. The sooner we can begin treatment, the better."

"Okay, how soon is soon?" Murray asked practically.

"Well, I'd like to hear back from you by Monday. Any longer than that and I'll be calling you to check up."

"So, less than a week to decide never to have sex again," Ted sighed. "Jesus. And if I go with the surgery, when would it be?"

"I'd have to check the hospital schedule, but probably a month to six weeks. There's some flexibility there, but again, we don't want to wait too long."

"All right. Murray will do the reading and we'll talk about it. Give you a call on Monday, I guess."

"Good. And you might also want to be in touch with some of the waiting room gang. They're sort an informal support group and they can offer a lot of practical advice."

"Yeah, we met some of them already."

"Oh, yes," Murray said, brightening just a little. "They invited us to lunch. Is—is that something that new people do?"

"They were all new people once. Really, it's a good group. You should go, if you can."

Murray looked at Quinlan and he shrugged.

They managed to get out with just a couple more questions, and a reiteration of their promise to call on Monday. Cody and Steve were still talking in the waiting room, but Steve had been to radiation and back during that time. He looked pale and rundown now and Rick was trying to get him to go home, but he wanted to see the new guys one more time before he left.

"Ted, Murray," he called weakly. "Are you still up for Denny's?"

"Steve, honey, you can't," Rick said, and was hushed with a careless gesture.

"I can. Come on, it's a support group and who needs support more than the new guys?"

"Honey, you're not responsible for every man who comes in here."

"I want to go. Rob and Tippy are already waiting, and David and Blond Rick will be there as soon as he finishes his chemo."

"All right," Rick sighed. "But you're using your wheelchair."

"Yes, mommy."

They wondered about that until Rick took Steve's arm and helped him up. He staggered and he might have fallen if Cody hadn't caught his other arm. Quinlan turned to Murray with a look of horror, and Murray hugged him, hiding Ted's face before anyone could see.

"I don't want that," he whispered against Murray's neck.

"It's temporary, Lieutenant. It's all temporary."

Steve hadn't heard what Quinlan said, but he did hear Murray.

"It is, guys. I'm going to beat it and so are you. So are Blond Rick and Paul."

"But not Rob," Quinlan said flatly.

"No, probably not Rob. But he's still waiting for us and he needs our support."

Ted nodded and stopped arguing. Cody helped Rick get Steve out to their car and they went to _Denny's_.

***

"Are you okay?" Murray asked, slipping his arm around Quinlan's shoulders in the back seat of the car.

"I'm just really—tired." He settled into the curve of Murray's body like a sleepy cat. They'd spent an hour and a half at _Denny's_, talking about prostates and erectile dysfunction with a group of total strangers, and another half hour at a gay bookstore, picking up the titles on Dr. Johnston's list. Murray was constitutionally incapable of resisting browsing in a bookstore, and he also found a few interesting volumes of erotica that he thought might give him inspiration when things got rough.

Now they were finally headed home, caught in traffic on the 405, and Quinlan was exhausted. He hadn't done much of anything, he hadn't even had to drive, but he was a man of action, and processing information and emotions was more difficult than running down suspects and fighting them to a standstill.

"Do you want to lie down, Lieutenant? We're going to be another forty-five minutes, at least."

"No, I'm a'right," he muttered. "Just let me lean on you, okay?"

Murray made a small, soothing sound and shifted their bodies into a slightly more comfortable position. Ted dozed off after a few minutes and Murray held him all the way home.

***

They had pork chops and baked potatoes that night, and for a change, Ted did most of the cooking. Murray sat at the kitchen table and read from _Your Prostate and You: A Man's Guide to Surviving Cancer_, occasionally sharing interesting bits of information. But much of what he read, he kept to himself. It was beginning to seem like there was only one reasonable course of action open to them, and the less frightened Ted was, the better.

"So you really think surgery?" he asked, not looking up from the green beans he was stirring.

"I think you need to go for the cure," Murray said, as he always did. "And there's stuff in this book, _Sex Without Prostates_, about implants and so on. There are lots of options available, if you just survive."

"Implants? What the fuck are those?"

"It's some kind of plastic thing that they surgically implant under the skin of the penis. It basically gives you a permanent semi, and if you can get some blood flowing, you can get hard."

"Hard enough?" Quinlan was well aware that it took a much stronger erection to penetrate a man than it did a woman. Everything he'd read on his own assured him that most men could regain enough function for the latter, but no one ever addressed the former.

"I don't know," Murray admitted. "But this sheet that the doctor gave us has a bunch of tips from his patients, and apparently, if you like being sucked enough to get really hard from it, you can put on a cock ring to see you through the rest."

"Yeah? I might be willing to try that."

"Might?"

"I've never worn a cock ring, but I like being sucked and I imagine after a year or so, I'd be open to just about anything that would get me back inside you."

"Wow, a year," Murray sighed.

"All starting to seem real now, isn't it?"

He nodded and closed the book, propped his elbows on the table and rested his head in his hands.

"Having second thoughts, kid?"

"No, of course not," he said quickly. Then, "About what?"

"About staying with me. Because you don't have to. You can always go back to the boat and resume your cancer-free life."

"No, I can't. _You're_ my life, Ted. I'm not going to let you go through this alone, and I'm not going to leave you when it's over. You just have to accept that." He got up and hugged the lieutenant warmly from behind, holding him for a long time.

"It's hard to imagine anyone being that—selfless."

"I'm not. Ted, no one's ever loved me like you do. No one's ever cared for me and humored me and made me feel as—as desirable as you do. You make me happy, and I'm selfish enough to want to keep that for as long as I can."

"How desirable are you going to feel when I'm sick and impotent and don't have any interest in sex at all?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, and kissed the back of Quinlan's neck. "But as long as you let me know that it's you and not me, I think I can handle it all right. And according to the book, it's really only the radiation that kills your desire. If you just have surgery you'll still want to, and that leaves all kinds of options."

"Like cock rings?"

"And blow jobs and hand jobs and good old fashioned rubbing up against each other."

"And it really says you can come without getting hard?"

"All the experts agree."

"Do they. What do they say about keeping a virile younger man satisfied without getting hard? Any tips of how to keep you from looking for some hot young stud who won't even have to think about his prostate for another thirty years?"

"You know, Lieutenant," he said, giving the exposed neck a reproving bite, "that's a little bit insulting. Look, either you believe in me or you don't. I'm running out of things to say besides _I love you_."

"I want you to tell me that you expect something from me. Our whole damn relationship has been about what I want, what I need. Now you're telling me you'll go without sex for the rest of your life and I'm sorry, but I don't believe that. You can't stick to it. So tell me something I can believe."

"All right, maybe I can't. But I have faith in you. I don't think you're so selfish that you'd deny me sexual contact altogether just because there was no orgasm in it for you. I think that, if I needed it, you'd make love to me somehow. Spend five minutes jerking me off if nothing else, just so I wouldn't have to do it alone."

"You'd settle for that?"

"Of course I would. It's always just been about us being together. At least, for me it has. If you just wanted to touch me a little, hold me and kiss me while I come, it would be enough."

"Yeah, I can do that. Even if I didn't have any libido left at all, I could do that much. But I guess I might not think of it, so you'd have to ask."

"It's a deal." He gave Quinlan one more little bite on the neck, this one hard enough to leave a mark, and then let him go. The beans were done and it was time to eat.

***

They skipped the eight o'clock movie that night and went to bed early, ostensibly because Quinlan was tired, but really because he wanted to hide in the dark. He hoped Murray couldn't tell, but of course he could. Probably even Catloaf could, but then, he had the advantage. He could see in the dark.

"I'm almost tempted to go for the chemo," Quinlan said as they crawled beneath the covers.

"You're kidding. Why would you do that?" Murray was torn between disbelief and fear, but the fear showed most strongly in his voice.

"Because it has the best chance of me being normal when it's done. I could still get a hard-on and hold my water. And my hair might grow back."

"And so might the cancer. It's a fool's bet, Ted, and you know it."

"Yeah, but I don't want—I don't want all those changes. Did you read the part about how your dick gets shorter after surgery? What the fuck is that?"

"It loses less than an inch in most cases. You can spare it."

"Cute. But why? I didn't get that part at all."

"Oh, well, that's simple." Murray held out his arm and Quinlan moved closer, laying his head on Murray's shoulder, aware that they were subtly changing places and not caring. "The urethra runs from the bladder, through the prostate and to the end of the penis, right?"

"Right, I know that."

"Okay, well, when they take out the prostate, they take out the inch or so of urethra that runs through it and sew the two ends together. That inch has to come from somewhere. The tube doesn't stretch, and it can hardly stop short of the end of the penis, so it all kind of draws together."

"Huh. Okay, it makes sense, but it still sucks."

"I know. The last thing you need when you're already feeling emasculated is to see your penis shrink, but it's not worth your life. And I wasn't kidding, you know. You really can spare it. I mean, it's pretty big."

"I guess it won't matter, if I can't get it up anyway. Jesus, I hate this. Chemo wouldn't make it shrink, would it?"

"I don't think so. But it might not kill the cancer. And you'd be sick for a long time."

"Yeah, I don't care about that. I don't mind shit I can recover from. Radiation's out, though. My mind's made up about that. I don't want to kill every healthy cell in my pelvis trying to get the cancer. It's hardly worth it if I'm gonna be in diapers the rest of my life."

"Do you really mean that? You'd really rather be dead that suffer a little indignity?"

"A little? Diapers, no erections, all the hair burned off my crotch—that's the last thing I'd try."

"So you've decided on the surgery already?"

"I guess I have. I want to read some more, and maybe talk to someone's who's had it, but I guess I don't have much choice." He paused, running his hand over Murray's chest and pinching his nipple gently, then went on. "Baby, you're—you're really going to—to…"

"To what? Stay with you? Yes, Lieutenant. You don't even have to ask. I promise, whatever you do, whatever the side effects are, I'm not leaving."

"That's a big promise, considering you don't know what's going to happen."

"I made it a long time ago. It hasn't changed, and it's not going to. But you know what occurred to me today?"

"No idea. Finally figure out that world hunger thing?"

"Not yet. But why are you so sure I'd leave you? Isn't it more likely, given that you've always had a preference for women, and you don't need as firm an erection for male/female intercourse, that _you_ would leave _me_?"

"No chance in hell, kid. Why would I want to start over with someone else after you stuck by me through all this?"

"Because of the sex thing, and because I might just become a reminder of all the bad times. You might get past all this and decide to start over fresh with someone who hasn't seen you at your worst."

"Right, because I want to start dating and have to explain to virtual strangers why I can't get it up."

"So you'll stay with me because it's easier?"

"And less humiliating. Don't forget that." Quinlan rose up on one elbow and kissed him, slow and sweet.

"Interesting. You think sticking with the person who sees the nasty part is better than implying to new people that nasty things have happened?"

"No, kid, I think I'm just better off with you, no matter what. I love you, and if your ass is too tight, that's nothing to complain about. We'll just find new ways to stretch it if we have to."

"Hmm. It sounds like you have a better grip on things than I thought."

"I've been thinking about it a lot. I've also been thinking that we should take advantage of every potential erection between now and whatever date Johnston sets for the surgery."

"Whatever you want, Lieutenant. I'd hate for you to look back on these weeks and think you wasted anything. Time, erections—whatever."

"Then you'll let me fuck you tonight? Even after all the god-awful things we saw and heard today?"

"Lieutenant, I'll let you fuck me any time, no matter what we've been doing all day. You know I can't say no to you."

"Can't, or don't want to?"

"Same thing." He shifted just enough to let Quinlan feel his growing erection.

"You really do want it?" Ted whispered in quiet amazement. "Even if it means I'm filling you with blood and cancer cells?"

"I told you, I don't care about that. It's not like your blood is dirty or cancer is contagious. I just want to feel you loving me, as long and as hard as you can."

"I guess I could use a rubber."

"Don't you dare," Murray laughed, as if it were a joke. "Lieutenant, nothing's changed. You've had cancer for a while, you just didn't know it. If it was going to hurt me, I'd be hurt by now."

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Not even a little." Murray turned and kissed him, warm and eager, throwing his leg across Quinlan's hip, rubbing their cocks together.

"Kid, you're just amazing," he sighed and pushed Murray down on his back, grinding against him, plundering his mouth. All of his reluctance, real as it had been, was gone without a trace, lost in his hunger for this sweet, smooth body. If time was short and erections numbered, he needed to stop arguing. He dragged himself away for the few seconds it took to turn Murray over, and then fell to biting his neck and shoulders. He knew just how to make his lover crazy, how to make him writhe and beg for more, and when he touched Murray's tight entrance, the skinny man nearly screamed.

"Do you like that?" he whispered. "Is that really what you want?"

"Yes. God, yes." Murray pushed back against his hand, groaning happily as a single finger slipped inside. Quinlan probed his silky heat, stroking his gland and making him thrust helplessly against the bed. "Lieutenant, please. I'm ready."

"No, you're not," he said and introduced a second finger. Murray cried out, grabbing for the carved spindles that formed the headboard of their bed. "Doesn't that hurt, baby?"

"No. No, it's good, Ted. Please…" he moaned, gripping the spindles so hard his knuckles turned white. He kept thrusting back on those gentle fingers, wanting more and more, and when they withdrew, he whimpered in disappointment.

"It's okay, kid, hang on," Quinlan laughed, grabbing his hips and pulling him into position. He slicked himself hurriedly and pushed into that hot, welcoming body, groaning along with Murray as they joined together. When he was halfway in, he slipped his hand under Murray's hip and squeezed his cock, making his muscles tighten involuntarily. Murray's groan turned into something more like a squeak and Quinlan was incapable of making any sound at all. He pulled back and pushed again, slow and steady, as far as he could reach. The head of his cock slid over Murray's gland and he squeaked again, jerking away and then pushing back hard. Quinlan let him set the pace this time, fast and punishing, pounding the tender gland while he stroked Murray's shaft to the rhythm of their bodies.

He knew he was going to come soon, but he wanted it to be special for Murray, this first time that was really the beginning of the end. He sat back on his heels and pulled Murray's ass against his belly, giving him more depth without losing that perfect angle, and allowing them both more range of motion. It was also easier to stroke and tease the leaking cock that now lay against his thighs, and the more he caressed the head and thumbed the moist slit, the tighter Murray squeezed him.

"Oh, Ted," he cried softly. "Oh, Ted, oh _fuck_—I'm gonna come, Ted. Come with me. God, Ted, please, come with me."

The hand that had been holding his hip slid down to cup his balls, squeezing gently as he teased Murray's cock and pounded inside him. By the time Murray realized what he was doing, it was too late. He drove his lover as deep as he could and came alone, sobbing in ecstasy and disappointment.

Quinlan's thrusts grew slower, gentler, but his throbbing shaft was never quite still. Murray collapsed on the bed, panting and trembling, and Ted rubbed his back with one hand. The other was still beneath him, teasing his over-sensitive cock, slicking it with his own semen to ease the friction. The combination of the kind hands on his body and the tender, seeking nudge against his gland kept him hard, and after a few moments, Murray rose up on his knees and leaned back into his lover's arms.

"Oh, shit," Quinlan whispered, biting the slender neck. "Fuck, baby, that's good. Are you gonna ride me now?"

"Until you make me come again," Murray said wickedly, beginning to rock and pushing him to new depths.

"Tall order, if you're gonna do that."

"No fair keeping me up if you aren't going to follow through."

Quinlan wrapped one arm tight around his waist and pulled him back forcefully to meet every thrust, finding his gland and pounding it hard. At the same time, he stroked and teased Murray's cock, running his thumb along the underside of the crown, occasionally pressing into the slit, even more aroused by the knowledge that Murray was also touching himself. If Murray was going to come again he needed more help, so he fondled his sac and stroked his shaft, his hand brushing Ted's now and then, as erotic and enticing as the silky friction inside.

"Come for me," Quinlan whispered, brushing his fingertip over the most sensitive spot on the underside of Murray's cock. "Come on, baby, I'm ready."

"I'm not. Give me something more, Lieutenant. Push me—harder, please."

"Don't—don't want to hurt you."

"Nothing you do hurts. Just give it to me, Lieutenant. _Make_ me come."

Quinlan was almost out of time, but there was one thing that always worked. He folded his hand into a fist and pumped Murray hard, the rough skin of his hand dragging in a way that would have been painful without the slickness of his come, and at the same time licked the top of his spine. Murray gasped sharply, shocked by the soft heat of the tongue on his back, and then Quinlan was pushing him down, pinning him beneath his superior weight and driving into him with all his strength, still licking softly up his spine. Murray sobbed and bucked beneath him, feeling like he was coming for long seconds before he actually did, and still feeling it for minutes after. Quinlan held onto him, one hand on his bicep, the other wrapped around his cock, and made him feel every second of his own climax, inside and out, filling and enveloping him with heat.

They lay joined for a long time, rocking softly together as Quinlan kissed and petted him, riding him through the aftershocks and slowly bringing him down. Murray groaned soft pain and disappointment when he finally withdrew, but was amply compensated by Quinlan's arms around him.

"I'll probably be too sore to do that again tomorrow," he said, smiling shyly.

"That's okay. I want something else tomorrow."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Like you in me."

"Really? But you—you never want that."

"Not never, just not often. But I figure I may as well get all the good I can out of my prostate while I have it. If you're careful it should be okay, and you always have been."

"I—I will be," Murray said, feeling strangely honored. They held each other in silence for a while, and then Quinlan spoke again.

"Kid, I feel like I need to tell you something."

"What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just—I feel like I been lying to you. Maybe it doesn't matter, but I don't want to have this surgery and take all these chances without you knowing the truth."

"Ted, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, it's nothing too terrible. It's just—all that stuff you were saying about how I might leave you for a woman because they're easier to screw and I always had that preference? Well, that's only half true."

"You mean they aren't easier?"

"No, Murray, I never really preferred them. I've always been gay. I was just too big a coward to own up to it."

"But—but you were married."

"Lotsa fags get married. Anyway, it wasn't because I wanted to. I was dating Lorna to cover up the fact that I was also dating a guy. But Lorna got pregnant, and it was either come out or marry her, so I married her. And, except for a little fooling around during the war, I was faithful. But after she left me, I never dated another woman. Just chased enough to keep my cover, and was a big enough asshole that I didn't catch any. And after you came to town, I stopped going to LA to pick up guys, too."

"Really? You—you gave up dating because of me? Why?"

"Because I wanted you. I knew Nick and Cody were lovers. A lot of people didn't, at least at first, but we know our own. And when you showed up, I figured you must be one of them. No straight guy would go live on a fifty foot boat with a couple of queers."

"Fifty-four feet," he said automatically.

"Right, because it makes a big difference. You know what I mean."

"I know. And you were right. I guess I'm more bisexual than gay, but I was certainly hoping to go to bed with them when I moved in. But what does that have to do with you?"

"I just told you. I figured you were gay, and I wanted you. I wasn't gonna let you see me with anyone, in case you decided I was in a relationship or something."

"Oh. Well, I hate to tell you this, but your little plan kind of backfired."

"Yeah? How's that?"

"I thought you were too big an asshole to get a date. If I'd seen you with some goofy, geeky boy, being nice to him, making him happy, I might have thought _hey, maybe that could be me_. Especially the last six months or so before we got together. I was pretty lonely then. It wouldn't have taken much."

"Shit. Well, I'm no good at psychological games anyway. I probably would've ended up making the other kid cry in front of you and never had a chance."

"Not all tears are bad, Lieutenant." He cuddled against Quinlan's chest and kissed his throat softly. "But I'm sure glad no one had to get hurt for us to be together. At least, no one besides us."

"That's your idea of luck?"

"Yes, it is. So, if I died or something, you wouldn't date a woman?"

"Murray, if you died, I'd die right along with you. I'm too old to start over."

"Don't say that. You're never too old to be happy—we've proven that."

"Maybe. But no, I wouldn't look for a woman. Even if I wanted to, I think we've been outed too thoroughly and too publicly to have girls chasing either of us."

"I don't know about that. Cody says girls hit on him all the time and their big pick-up line is that he hasn't found the right one yet. Apparently, turning a guy straight is a big coup."

"It would be. What about you? You like both—will you let a girl turn you back if I die?"

"Right now I think I agree with you. I'd rather die than go on."

"But you're only thirty-eight. Plenty of time to start over."

"Theoretically. I guess I'd do what I was doing when we got together. I'd get to know people and choose the one I liked best regardless of gender. It might be a woman so I wouldn't be comparing her to you all the time, or it might be a man to try and recapture some of the uncomplicated happiness we've had. But I expect I'd be disappointed either way. Better you just don't die, Ted."

"Yeah, you too, kid." Quinlan hugged him close and didn't let go, even after he was asleep.


	4. Day by Day

Murray thought he was joking about the shower, but they ended up in there together the next morning and had a pretty good time. Murray was worried about hurting him, as he always was when asked to top, because he did it so rarely, but his lover never showed any signs of pain. He was careful with the preparation, tentative when he thrust, and did most of the work with his hands on Quinlan's heavy shaft. For Murray, touching it was almost as good as being inside him. But he never lost his head, never lost track of where he was or what he was doing, and when Ted came, Murray let himself go, too, as restrained and gentle as he could.

"Was that okay?" he whispered as he withdrew.

"It was great, baby. We should be sure to do it again."

"Yeah? You really like it that much?"

"Why is it that big a surprise?"

"I don't know. I guess because in five years we've done it maybe ten times, and always in the shower. Come to think of it, why _do_ we always do it in the shower?"

"I don't like being held down," he said simply and turned around to reach the shampoo.

"You could be on top."

"Don't like being on display, either. I like it standing up, and the shower's the easiest."

"Are you sure it's not some latent jail fantasy?" Murray teased.

"If I want to be analyzed, I'll go to a shrink."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. We've done jail fantasies before. We did one _in_ jail."

"Yeah, but those were about _you_ getting fucked. I don't have any fantasies about getting nailed by inmates."

"I guess I'm a romantic, Lieutenant. I like to think of it as both of us getting fucked."

Quinlan pushed him against the wall and kissed his smiling mouth.

"You _are_ a hopeless romantic, kid. Just one of the reasons I love you." Then he turned off the water and reached for a towel. They had to be at work in an hour and he needed to have a good breakfast.

***

"So you're set on surgery?" Nick asked as he handed Quinlan and Murray their sandwiches.

"There really isn't much choice," Quinlan said. "I think the doctor knows it, he's just humoring me, pretending that it's my call. I'm gonna talk to one of the guys we met there yesterday, and probably call the doctor tomorrow about setting it up."

"Wow," Cody said, looking pained. "Are you okay with all this?"

"No. I have fucking _cancer_, Allen. I'm not okay with any of it. But I have to do something. He says it's too aggressive to wait."

"So you're going to start telling people?"

"I guess I have to. The store's gonna be closed a lot and we'll have to say something."

"Wait," Nick interrupted. "Why is the store gonna be closed?"

"I'll be in the hospital for a week and then stuck at home for, what, a month? Murray's not gonna be able to look after me and work every day. And if I need radiation, it'll be even worse."

"We'll run the store, Ted. We've talked about this already," Cody said, almost hurt that he seemed to have forgotten.

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't. Ted, we're not going to sit back and watch your business die because you're sick. And if you need someone to drive you to appointments or something, I'll do it and Nick will watch the store."

"Yeah, I appreciate the thought, but I'd rather we stayed friends."

"What does that mean?" Nick asked suspiciously.

"It means you'd get tired of putting your lives on hold and I don't want to be the reason Murray loses his best friends. He's really gonna need you while this is going on."

"Yeah, he's gonna need us to run the store and drive you to the doctor," Nick said flatly.

"And what about the agency?"

"We'll work it out," Cody said, cutting his eyes at Nick. Arguing wasn't the answer; Quinlan could out-shout them any day of the week. "All you have to worry about is getting well, Ted. Let us take care of the rest."

"I don't want to use you," he said, humble now. "If I don't think about anyone but myself, I'm gonna end up being completely unlikable."

"Never thought I'd see the day when you were worried about that, LT."

Murray and Cody turned on him as one, preparing to start the shouting now, but Quinlan forestalled them by laughing, loud and long.

"Fair enough, Ryder. But if I start turning into an asshole, promise you'll let me know."

"You bet." He gave Quinlan a wink that set him laughing again and Murray nearly choked on his sandwich.

"So how's business?" Cody asked, changing the subject. "Did you get the ships in bottles yet?"

"Yeah, yesterday," Quinlan said. "You can help me unpack them after lunch. But I'm not kidding—you're gonna end up buying most of 'em."

"If that's what it takes. I need something to do in the evenings."

"You _have_ something to do," Nick growled.

"Not if you keep going to sleep early," Cody teased, elbowing him in the ribs.

"One time, man. One time, because I was working on _Mimi_ all day."

"Could've used a ship that night, is all I'm saying," Cody laughed.

The bell above the door jingled and they all stopped talking as a woman and three kids came in. The kids went running to explore the store while the woman approached the counter. Murray put down his sandwich and stood up to meet her.

"Can I help you?" he asked brightly.

"I hope so. Do you have any of those little model ships that you build in bottles? Jimmy's always wanted to try one."

The guys all laughed and Murray gave her his sweetest geeky smile.

"As a matter of fact, we just got some of those in. They're still in the back, but I'd be happy to bring them out for you to look at." He insisted that his friends stay and finish eating while he brought four different bottle kits from the back room. The oldest boy, who looked about twelve, picked one out while his little brother, who was maybe six, cried because he couldn't have one. Murray put the other bottles aside and took the little boy to look at wooden puzzles that were more age appropriate. They had a full selection, from cartoon characters to world maps, and soon the child's laughter filled the store.

It was the little girl who was hard to please. She wandered up and down the aisles, looking at everything with a thoughtful frown, but touching nothing. When Murray asked her what she was interested in, she shrugged.

"Not puzzles or boats," she said, and that narrowed it down a bit.

"Well, what do you want to do when you grow up?" he asked. Usually, if he could get a child to tell him that, he could find something that related somehow.

"I want to fly," she said.

"Really? My friend, Nick, is a pilot. He has his own helicopter."

"He does not." She was only ten, but she was used to adults making things up to impress her.

"He does so. Would you like to meet him?"

She looked skeptical, but it was too good a chance to miss. She turned away from the sea monkey packs and followed him up to the counter where he mother was talking to the other men.

"They always want to go to Toys R Us, but all that stuff is just junk, you know? Dolls and video games. Nothing interesting or useful, nothing to expand a child's mind."

"I know what you mean," Cody said sincerely, but his eyes were laughing.

"I knew you'd understand. I like the children to have a chance to learn while they play. Even building models is useful for teaching the properties of physics, not to mention discipline and patience. But this one," she added, gesturing to the little girl, "she always has her head in the clouds, talking about flying. I keep telling her girls don't fly, but she doesn't listen."

"Oh, that isn't true," Murray said before he could stop himself. "My friend Baxter has a private pilot who's a woman and she's very good. And by the time your daughter grows up, there will be a lot more women flying, won't there, Nick?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure, there will be," he said, caught off guard by the girl's intense focus.

"You really fly?" she asked suspiciously.

"Uh-huh. I learned to fly helicopters in the Army, during the war."

"And you have one of your own?"

"Yes, I do. I fly tours around the harbor, and sometimes move cargo."

"Can you fly airplanes?"

"I never have, but I probably could. Helicopters are a lot harder, but some of it's the same."

"Do you have radio controlled helicopters?" she asked, turning back to Murray.

"We do. We even have one that's like Nick's, although it isn't pink."

"Yours is pink?" she asked him, sure now that they were teasing. Nick pulled out his wallet and flipped through the photos until he found one of Cody and him in front of _Mimi_.

"I've seen that," she said, suddenly believing. "It's so _cool_."

"It's the best chopper in King Harbor," Nick said and led her off to look at the radio controlled models while she fired questions at him nonstop.

"Now she'll never give it up," her mother sighed.

"Maybe she'll be a pilot," Murray said.

"Her father wants her to be an astronomer. That just seems so much more realistic for a girl. Of course, she stays up all night looking at stars and falls asleep at school. At least helicopters are a daytime activity."

The mother wasn't completely satisfied, but she bought the toys her children asked for and promised the girl that they'd take one of Nick's harbor tours before the end of summer. When they were gone, no one wanted to resume the old topic of conversation, and they listened to Murray talk about his newest programming nightmare while they finished their lunch.

***

On Monday, Cody drove Murray and Quinlan back to Beverly Hills and they decided on a surgery date a month away. The doctor gave the same advice he had before, to exercise, eat well and make love as often as they could. But he also recommended stockpiling food, arranging with friends and neighbors to help with house and yard work, and seeing a dentist to make sure his teeth were in good shape. No one had thought of that before, but Murray knew if Ted didn't that the mouth was a common source of infection, and healthy gums were key to a healthy body. Quinlan grumbled a little, but he knew it wasn't up to him. Johnston would give the orders and Murray would make him follow them.

Steve and Rick were in the office that day and they stayed awhile after their appointment to talk to Steve about his surgery. He'd had his prostate removed the year before, but he'd refused radiation and the cancer recurred, so he was having it now. They talked for a long time, until Steve was called away for his treatment, and then Cody took them home. They would have to come back and preregister at the hospital a couple of days before the surgery, but until then, there was nothing to do but worry and try to prepare.

The next weekend, Nick and Cody took over at the store so they could stay home and relax. Or at least they were supposed to be relaxing. Murray was reading the books, planning meals, making lists of foods to buy, people to tell and side effects to expect. He wanted to fill the freezer with prepared meals and the cupboards with canned foods, in case he couldn't find people to help out, and he'd need alternatives in case it turned out Ted wouldn't eat the things he picked. According to the books, that often happened. Especially if he needed the radiation. That could really screw things up. And Murray didn't want to rest on their savings while all this was going on. He wanted to keep working, and that would mean being prepared for every eventuality.

It was in that frame of mind that he decided to do something he hadn't done since Quinlan died back in '85. He waited until Ted was taking a nap, then went to his office and called Theo.

"Who is this again?" Theo asked shortly, his tone saying that he knew perfectly well. Murray swallowed hard and choked out an answer.

"Murray Bozinsky."

"Oh, right. The famous homo computer nerd. What's going on? Is the old man dead again?"

He sighed and rubbed his eyes without taking off his glasses.

"No, but I thought you should know that he—he isn't well."

"Yeah? Don't tell me, let me guess. He's got AIDS, right? That'd about fit."

Murray swallowed again, his white knuckled hand gripping the cordless phone until the plastic casing cracked.

"No, he—um—he has cancer. Prostate cancer. They caught it early, and he's going to have surgery soon, but I thought—I thought you should know. In case there was something you'd want to say to him. I—I hate to see you divided like this—"

"Right, you care so much about his family. But then, you probably care more than I do. I'd say if the old man's got ass cancer that serves him right. Never would have guessed he'd be the bottom in your sick little games, but whatever."

"No—no, it doesn't—it's not—it doesn't have anything to do with sex," he stammered, his face as red as his fingers were white. "His father died of it, and he's just at that age."

"Yeah, whatever," he said again. "If that's what you need to tell yourself, you go right ahead. But it's got nothing to do with me. I don't care what he's doing or what happens to him, and I don't want to hear from you again. Unless he's really dead, that is. And then I'm going to hire a lawyer and fight you for everything he has. Because you're not family, Bozinsky, and you never will be. I want you to remember that."

"Everything he has is _ours_," Murray said quietly. "You can't fight over jointly owned property."

"Well, we'll see about that. Live in fear, Bozinsky. And enjoy that ugly death. I saw my grandfather die, you know. He weighed eighty pounds and shit himself nonstop. You're gonna love it."

"Theo, no. You don't really want to let him go this way, do you? He's your _father_."

"I'd say he could kiss my ass, but he'd probably enjoy it. Don't call me again." He hung up, and after a moment, Murray did, too. Then he took off his glasses, laid his head down on his desk and wept.

He was still crying when Quinlan came in and found him a few minutes later.

"Hey, kid, what's the matter?" he asked, rubbing Murray's back gently with one hand.

"Nothing. Nothing, Lieutenant. I guess I'm just—tired."

"Should have come and taken a nap with me. What were you doing, anyway? Trying to work?"

"Not really. I just had a couple things to take care of. How are you feeling? Did you get enough rest?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why don't you come watch TV with me? Channel twelve is having a disaster double feature. _The Towering Inferno_ and _The Poseidon Adventure_."

"Okay. I've never seen _Poseidon_, but I love _The Towering Inferno_. You want some popcorn?"

"I think I'd rather have ice cream. But I'll make your popcorn if you want."

"No, ice cream sounds better. Has the movie started yet?"

Quinlan checked his watch and told him he had five minutes. "But the beginning is boring anyway. It doesn't get good until the fire starts. You go wash up and I'll get the ice cream."

Murray kissed him and went to wash his face and blow his nose. He was determined not to tell Quinlan about the phone call, partly because of the evil things Theo had said, and partly because he felt stupid for expecting any different. Ted would either be hurt or laugh at him, and neither would help.

"Tippy called while you were sleeping," he said as they settled down in front of the TV. "He said Rob's back in the hospital."

"That's too bad. You think we ought to go see him?"

Murray could tell from his tone of voice that he didn't want to. Quinlan liked some aspects of the support group dynamic, but he didn't want to watch anyone else die of the same disease he had.

"Right now he isn't allowed any visitors. They're trying to avoid further infections, so it's restricted to just his folks and Tippy. I said we'd go over when he gets home."

"Any idea when that'll be?"

"Probably never. Tippy's going to tell him we sent our love."

"Poor bastard. But Tippy'll be okay. Cute little ass wiggler like him will have a new guy in no time."

"Yeah. He could have one now, but he's really committed to Rob. I think it's sweet."

"You would." Quinlan turned up the TV for the big argument between Paul Newman and Richard Chamberlain. The fire would get going good soon, but there had to be some build-up first.

***

By the week before the surgery, everyone in town was talking about Quinlan's bad luck. Business suddenly picked up at the store as people came in to see how he was doing and offer to help. A geeky kid named Jack who hung around to watch Murray work on computers was next in line to run the store if Nick or Cody couldn't be there, and Mama Jo would watch the boat. But everyone hoped it wouldn't come to that. Quinlan would have to be very sick and Murray very tired before they allowed their friends to sacrifice so much.

Two nights before, a Wednesday evening in September, they were eating Chinese food and watching _The Hustler_. Nick and Cody had agreed to stay home these last two nights and give them their privacy, allowing them the chance to say and do whatever they needed to before their lives changed again. But for now, that just meant watching TV and eating spicy chicken.

"I never thought this was Paul Newman's best movie," Murray said thoughtfully.

"It's not. But he won an Oscar for it, didn't he?"

"No, but he was nominated. The only Oscar he ever won was for _The Color of Money_. I think that was just to make up for not giving him all the ones he deserved, like _Hud_ and _Cool Hand Luke_."

"Probably. _Hud_ is on tomorrow."

"Oh, boss. Did you ever read the book? _Horseman Pass By_?"

"Is that _Hud_? I saw it on your shelf, but I didn't know it was the same story."

"It isn't the most faithful adaptation," Murray shrugged. He put his chicken on the footlocker and laid his head on the back of the sofa.

"You okay, kid?"

"Sure. Why wouldn't I be?"

"It'll be okay, Murray. This time next week, we'll be back here watching TV just like this. It'll be like nothing ever happened."

"No, it won't. If you _are_ home by Wednesday, which isn't a sure thing, you'll still have a catheter and probably be in bed. You'll be miserable, Lieutenant."

"So we can watch TV in bed. You can make me fresh squeezed lemonade and get Deb to bake us peanut butter cookies." His voice was light, but his eyes were pleading for Murray to not expose the lie.

"She does make good cookies," he agreed. Then his tone changed just a little. "Are you scared, Ted? Of the surgery, I mean."

"Sure. You know I hate hospitals. But this isn't gonna hurt as bad as getting hit by that car, I'll get to come home to you after. You'll be there with me, too, won't you? We can watch the eight o'clock movie just the same."

"Dr. Johnston said he'd make sure I could sleep in your room, but only if I let you rest. You'll probably miss the movie the first couple of days, at least. But Deb might be able to sneak in some cookies for us."

"I don't want to be clinging, but I'm gonna need you to be there a lot."

"I know. It'll be okay. He's going to take care of both of us."

Quinlan nodded and picked at his food a little more. Then he put it aside and turned to Murray.

"We should go to bed soon, kid. I don't want to waste our next to last evening watching Paul Newman play pool."

"What do you want to do?" he asked, smiling slyly.

"I want to fuck you, of course," Quinlan grinned, using harsh words to cover the tenderness he felt.

"Oh, of course. And what will we do on your last evening?"

"That one's up to you. So long as we're alone, and at home."

"Hmm. That's going to take a lot of thinking," Murray said, rising and gathering up the takeout cartons and beer cans. Quinlan wasn't supposed to be drinking now, but he couldn't resist when they had spicy chicken. Murray kept him to one and they didn't tell the doctor.

Quinlan had his way in bed, too, torturing and tormenting his willing lover to heights of sweet ecstasy and then bringing him safely down with warm and tender affection. Murray fell asleep cuddled against him, parts of his body aching, but suffused overall with a tingling pleasure that he knew he would miss more than he'd ever admit.

***

Thursday was rough. They went to work as usual, but Quinlan wasn't interested in talking to people and they ended up closing early. They went to _Straightaway's_ and picked up dinner to go, then went home to watch sitcoms until _Hud_ came on. Quinlan wasn't supposed to eat after ten or drink after midnight, and he doubted he'd be able to sleep even after making love, so it was going to be a long night.

"You look worried, Lieutenant."

"Yeah? Why would I be worried?" he asked sarcastically and tried to ignore the hurt look in Murray's eyes.

"Last night you were the one trying to cheer me up."

"Last night there was still time. It's six o'clock, kid. Twelve hours from now, I'll be signing in at the hospital, and an hour after that, I'll be going under the knife. Then I'll wake up and nothing's ever gonna be the same again."

"Some things will be," Murray said softly. "I'll be the same. And it won't be too long before you go back to work. We'll still take walks on the beach, and eat Chinese while we watch tough guy movies. You'll still like Steve McQueen and Jimmy Stewart and peanut butter cookies."

"Yeah, okay. But don't you ever think you'll miss the good sex? I never met a man who liked getting his ass pounded as much as you do."

"Well, that's just because it's you doing the pounding," he said, with that sly little smile. "And if you still want to give me that, there are other ways."

"So you won't miss it."

"Why are you pushing this, Ted? What do you want me to say?"

"The truth, Bozinsky. Just tell me the truth. As long as it feels like you're holding out—well, it could be anything, couldn't it?"

He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, hoping that Quinlan was serious. If he told the truth and it was somehow wrong, there would be no taking it back.

"All right, I _will_ miss it. I—I want you inside me all the time. It makes me feel—safe. Putting myself in your hands, being vulnerable for you, and having you give me so much pleasure in return. It's the most wonderful thing…" He stopped and put his plate aside to rub his eyes. "But I can live without it, under these circumstances. It's not like you're cutting me off out of spite, or because you've lost interest. I know that you want it as much as I do, and that makes it—not okay, exactly—but bearable. Knowing that you want more means that I can accept whatever you end up able to give, because I'd still rather be with you than anyone else."

"You mean that, don't you?" Quinlan asked in quiet wonder.

"I've been telling you so for a month. If all you ever give me after this is fingering and hand jobs, I'll be happy because it's you. That's what love is, Ted. And—and marriage," he added, turning the ring on his finger. "I _do_ feel married to you, you know. According to the books I've been reading, a lot of marriages don't survive this, but those people mostly had a lot of problems to start with. We don't."

"You don't think we have problems?"

"Do we? I mean, we don't fight, our families get along, or, you know, you get along with my family, and neither of us have histories of affairs. At least I don't, and I've never suspected you of cheating."

"Except when I was in Mexico. I seem to recall you having some doubts then."

"Okay, I was a little insecure then, yes. But I never really believed it, and I believed you when you said you didn't."

"Good. Because you know I really didn't, right? The worst I did was jerk off thinking about you."

"That's not cheating," Murray said, smiling shyly. "And it seems to me like you had some doubts of your own."

"Sure I did. You could have been dating, partying, getting laid every night, so long as you thought I was dead. That's a big part of why I broke my cover to see you. I was so afraid you'd find someone else and be crazy in love by the time I was allowed to come up, and—and I really wanted you to make an informed decision. You could have dumped me there in the motel and I'd have understood."

"Would you?"

"Yeah. Oh, it would've hurt like hell, don't get me wrong. But I couldn't promise you any more than a weekend a month, or less, and that wasn't fair. You could have said no."

"I couldn't. I loved you so much, and I love you more now. I won't leave you, Lieutenant. Not ever."

"I'm afraid that for a genius, you're a real fool," he said, putting his plate on the footlocker.

"Maybe, but what are you gonna do?" Murray grinned.

"I'm gonna take you to bed now, before you change your mind."

It was Murray's choice what they did that night, and he wanted, for some reason not even clear to himself, to make it like the first time. He undressed almost shyly and straddled Quinlan's muscular thighs, rubbing against him until they both grew hard.

"Oh, kid, that's nice," Ted whispered, wrapping his hand around Murray's cock. Murray gripped him in return and they moved together, slow and easy, thrusting and fondling and trying not to come.

"Do you like it, Lieutenant? Is it good enough for our last time?"

"Last time for now," he corrected, tightening his grip and gently thumbing Murray's leaking slit.

"For now," he agreed. "So is it?"

"Good enough for me. But if you want your ass pounded one more time…"

"You're gonna make me come in a minute," Murray sighed.

"That's okay," Quinlan said, "so long as I don't." He went on stroking and thumbing, playing every card he had, and Murray let himself go swiftly, knowing he would have a second chance. Ted caught the jets of semen in his fist and groaned softly as he used it to slick his own erection. Murray shifted himself forward, rose up on his knees and began to push him in, slow and careful for the lack of preparation. But he was feeling loose and relaxed after his orgasm and it wasn't bad. He liked how much there was to feel, the burning discomfort and mild stabs of pain, knowing they would be followed by intense pleasure.

Murray pushed his lover deep, leaning back on his hands to get the angle right. The gentle nudge against his gland helped keep him from getting soft, and Ted's low moans and eager touch had him throbbing again in moments. He rocked hard, thrusting into those strong, calloused hands, making Quinlan pound him whether he wanted to or not. He needed to come fast because the lieutenant wouldn't last long, and the frantic abandon with which he moved dragged them both inexorably toward the edge. Murray came first, crying his lover's name, clenching and thrusting until Ted shot deep inside him.

For a moment he sat there, trembling and panting, blushing absurdly under Quinlan's gaze. But when he started to pull away, the other man sat up and hugged him close, determined to stay inside him to the last second.

"Don't leave me yet," he whispered, easily the most vulnerable thing he'd ever said, to Murray or anyone else.

"I'm never going to leave you, Lieutenant. No matter what, I promise."

They stayed like that for a long time and then went to shower, both thinking it might be their last chance before the surgery. Hopefully, there would be time in the morning for one more, but neither was counting on it. Then Quinlan changed the sheets while Murray finished packing, making sure they both had everything they'd need to be away from home for a week. It scared him a little, knowing they would be on their own in the city, in a hospital where they'd be subject to other people's rules, but he didn't say anything. Just in case Quinlan wasn't thinking about that yet, Murray didn't want to make him start.

Catloaf hopped up on the chair to investigate the bag Murray was packing and Murray paused to scratch his head. He was going to miss his Christmas kitty this week. Nick and Cody had offered to take him, but they were going to be at the store most of the time and Murray didn't want the Loaf to be alone in a strange place all day. True, he had started out on the boat, but that was years ago and a cat's memory wasn't that long. He was going to stay with Deb and Jane, since Jane didn't go out much and if he got out, he would be close to home. Murray sincerely hoped it wouldn't come up, but made a mental note to have Nick check up. Catloaf really liked Nick.

"You have enough books and shit for a week?" Ted asked.

"I hope so. If I need anything else, I guess one of the guys would bring it after work. It sure is nice of them to run the store, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Which one's driving us tomorrow?"

"Nick is. Cody didn't think he could handle that long a wait."

"Is Nick gonna be comforting enough for you? He's the one who gets impatient and wanders off when you try to make him sit still for more than ten minutes."

"Sometimes, but I think he'll be okay. I told him to bring something to do, and if he wants to go out, I'll be okay on my own for a while."

"He'd better not," Quinlan said, but he felt old and impotent. If Nick left Murray alone all day, or tried to nail him in the men's room, there was nothing he'd be able to do about it. Lying in his bed, hooked up to IVs and catheters, he probably wouldn't even know what was going on. He wondered if he'd ever have the power or the presence to threaten anyone again.

"Don't worry about me, Lieutenant. Nick will look after me, and I'll look after you, and we'll all be fine." He zipped his bag and set it aside, then turned back to the bed. "You believe me, don't you? We'll be fine."

"I know. I'll be asleep anyway. That's when you'll be worried, won't it, kid?"

"Yeah. Anytime you're not giving me shit, I'm worried about you." He sat down and slipped his arm around Ted's waist, leaning against his shoulder, making the lieutenant feel strong again.

"I'll try to remember that when I wake up. What time is it now?"

"Um—ten-thirty," he said, stretching around to see the clock. "Think we should go to bed for real?"

"Probably better. Can you get me a glass of water, baby?"

"Sure." Murray went to the kitchen for the water and Quinlan got a Xanax from the bottle on the nightstand. He slipped it in his mouth and put the bottle back, not wanting Murray to know he was anxious enough to need it. As early as they were getting up in the morning, he was bound to be hungover, but there wasn't anything he needed to be awake for. The tablet had mostly dissolved by the time Murray came back, and he drank the water to wash away the chalky taste.

"What time is Nick picking us up?"

"Four-thirty. I'm setting the alarm for three-thirty, but we don't have to get up then. There'll be a little cushion if you want to hit the snooze a couple of times." Murray took off his robe and got into bed, looking soft and inviting to the man he'd worn out less than an hour ago. Ted climbed in beside him and they huddled together, Catloaf at their feet, holding hands until the tranquilizer kicked in and he went to sleep.


	5. Points of No Return

Murray hit the snooze three times and then made Quinlan get up. The older man stumbled out of bed, groggy and bleary eyed, wishing he could have coffee. Murray guided him into the shower instead, letting him stand under the hot water until he really began to wake.

"Are you going to have breakfast, kiddo?" he asked, leaning against the wall as the steam built around him.

"No. I'll have something later, at the hospital." Murray shed his robe and stepped into the shower, his hand on Quinlan's hip, sharing the heat.

"Do me a favor and have a piece of toast first. I can't share it, but I'd like to see you eat some catbread before we go."

"Don't you start saying goodbye, Lieutenant. I don't want to hear it."

"I ain't saying anything. I just don't think you ought to go all morning without anything to eat."

"I won't," Murray said and kissed him. His hand dropped to Ted's flaccid member and stroked very lightly until it stirred against his palm. As soon as it began to grow hard, he went to his knees.

"Oh, baby, you don't—"

"I want to," Murray whispered, taking him in his mouth. Quinlan stopped protesting and dug his hands into Murray's hair. It wouldn't be the last time they did this, both were certain of that, but it would be the last time for several weeks, and it might be the last time Ted was fully erect for it. He didn't know how different it would feel to be sucked to orgasm without an erection; maybe it wouldn't be different at all. But just in case it was, he held Murray's head and thrust against the back of his throat, taking everything there was to be had, one last time.

***

Because pleasing Ted was his only real goal this morning, Murray ate a piece of toast with Deb's homemade jam, and was going over their bags again when Nick arrived.

"Come on, kid, you've got everything. Let's get going," Quinlan said, turning gruff to hide his worry.

"Right, I'm coming. Good morning, Nick. Thanks so much for doing this."

"It's okay. Need a hand with that, Boz?"

Murray was getting flustered and starting to drop things, so he stepped back and let Nick take over. Nick gathered up the two carry on flight bags and a backpack full of Murray's books, and followed Quinlan out the door. Murray turned off the lights, locked up and walked very slowly down the steps to the driveway. He saw a light come on in the kitchen window next door and paused just long enough to wave to Jane, who was watching them get into the Granada. She was going to come over later and get the cat, and would pick up the mail and water the plants as long as they were gone. He wondered how long that would be.

Quinlan and Murray rode in the back seat, the lieutenant dozing most of the way, while Nick drove and played the radio quietly. It was about the longest he'd ever seen Murray be quiet and he kept track with his watch to tell Cody about it later. Something about the sweet way Murray held the sleeping man made it impossible to make jokes now, but he hoped he'd be able to soon.

When they hit downtown traffic, Quinlan woke and looked around.

"Shit," he muttered. "It wasn't a dream."

"No. We'll be there in about twenty minutes, right, Nick?"

"About that."

Ted slumped down under Murray's arm and laid his head back against the bony shoulder.

"Baby, I don't want to do this," he whispered.

"I know, Lieutenant. I don't want to do it, either."

"You guys okay?" Nick asked, glancing at them in the mirror.

"Yeah," Quinlan said shortly. But his frightened eyes gave away the truth. He might never be okay again.

***

Nick stayed with them through the check in and then claimed a spot in the waiting area while Murray went to pre-op with Ted. Dr. Johnston had given orders for the staff to treat Murray as next of kin, and though some of them thought it was strange, they obeyed. Murray helped him into his gown and tied it up the back for him, then sat by and held his hand while the IV was started. It was mostly saline, but a little touch of some tranquilizer made him just calm enough not to fuss as he was shaved and catheterized. After that, there was nothing to do but wait.

"I might fall asleep, kid," Ted mumbled when they were alone.

"It's okay. I'll stay here even if you do."

"I know. But I wanted to be with you the whole time. For as long as I could. Murray, baby, I don't want to leave you. I love you, and I'm so sorry this happened. I'm so fucking sorry I let this happen to you." He was weeping now, so hopelessly uncoordinated that he couldn't wipe his eyes, and that was what tipped Murray to the fact that it was the medication talking.

"Shh," he whispered, lowering the bedrail and sliding his skinny arm beneath Quinlan's strong shoulders. "Hush now, Lieutenant, it's okay. None of this is your fault and I—I love you, too. More than anything. I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world and that's all that matters. You just relax now and go to sleep and I'll be here when you wake up."

"Don't let go of me, kid. I need to feel you as long as I can."

"I know. I won't let go." He wiped away the tears with his fingers and then went on stroking the scarred and weathered face until the anesthesiologist came in.

"Is this it?" Quinlan asked fearfully. "Am I going now?"

"You're going to sleep, Mr. Quinlan. And when you wake up, hopefully you'll be cancer free."

"What if I don't wake up?"

"You will, Lieutenant. And I'll be right here when you do. It's all going to be okay."

"Murray, promise me something," he said urgently, trying to jerk his arm away when the anesthesiologist reached for his IV. "No, you wait a minute," he said and turned back to the man who held him. "Murray, promise me you won't be alone. You can do it, you're an adult—I know all that. But I don't want you to. Promise me you'll go home to your friends and let them help you. Don't rattle around that house all alone missing me, please."

"Stop it, Ted. You're going to be fine and we'll go home together."

"I know that, baby, just promise me. Humor an old man, one more time."

"All right, I promise. But we're going to be together again before you know it, and then I'm going to say _I told you so_ all afternoon."

"Whatever you want, kid. _Murray_. It's always been whatever you wanted." He closed his eyes against the sight of Murray's tears and then the new wave of sedative overtook him, knocked him down and washed him out to sea. Even as he drifted away, he could taste the salt.

Murray walked beside the gurney all the way to the doors of the operating room and then went back to find Nick. His friend was right where they'd left him, reading a magazine with their bags at his feet.

"Hey, buddy, how'd it go? Did he get off all right?"

"Yeah. He—they sedated him and—he's okay." He sat down beside Nick and steadied himself with a few deep sighs.

"It's going to be all right, you know. He's in good hands."

"I know. I just hate this so much. He was so scared—he made me promise all kinds of things in case he doesn't wake up. And I know he will, but he's just as scared of that, I think, and I don't know how to help him. All I have are words, and I've used them all. He knows I love him, that I'll stay with him, but he's still scared and I can't do anything about it."

"No, you can't," was Nick's surprising response. Murray looked up at him, eyes wide behind his glasses. He'd really expected his friend to tell him something he could argue with.

"Then what—what should I do?"

"You just have to wait." He laid the magazine aside and put his arm around Murray's shoulders. "He's got something terrible growing inside him that he didn't even know was there, and that's bad enough. Now he's had to go into surgery without knowing what he'll be like when he comes out. You can't reassure him in advance when neither of you know what you'll be getting. All you can do is wait until you know and reassure him then."

"I'd believe him," Murray said petulantly. "If it was me, I'd believe him."

"Sure, but you're a more trusting guy. You believe everything he says." Nick squeezed his shoulders to show it was a joke, sort of, and Murray laughed.

"Okay, so I do. But he could believe me, too. I'm right a lot. Especially when it comes to keeping promises."

"I know you are, buddy. But LT's old. He's been hurt and lied to by people he trusts since before we were even born. His wife alone would be enough to make a lot of men give up altogether."

"She would have made him give up if he wasn't gay. If he'd ever really loved her the way he loves me, it would have been a lot worse."

"Was—_is_ he really gay, then? Not bi, or just in love with you?"

"That's what he says. She was a beard that he was afraid to shave for twenty years. He wanted to be there for his son, for all the good it did, so he waited for her to leave. I think I'm the only person he's ever _really_ loved, and it's too late for him to trust me."

"No, Murray, that isn't true. He must trust you a lot just to get this far. And by the time it's over, after you've kept all your promises and he's recovered from this, he'll trust you in ways you can't even imagine right now."

"If I don't screw it up."

"How could you screw it up? All you have to do is take care of him and not have sex with anyone else."

"It's really that easy?"

"That'd be enough for me. Come on, Murray, you know this stuff. You won't set him up to fail or make him feel like less of a man. That's what he's worried about, you know. Just treat him the same as you always have and you'll be fine."

"I'm scared, too," Murray whispered. Nick turned the pale face against his shoulder and held him for a long time.

***

In spite of his earlier promise, Murray didn't eat that morning. He tried to drink the coffee Nick brought him but it was bitter and lukewarm. None of his books were interesting, and after other people started coming into the waiting room, he wasn't comfortable letting Nick hold him. All he really wanted to do was get up and pace, as he had done while Ted was in surgery before, the time he died, but this room wasn't really suited for it. Instead, he sat and stared at the clock, counting every second and waiting for it to be over.

"Murray, you want to go for a walk or something? Just around the block. It might help you calm down."

"No, it's too late," he sighed.

"What do you mean? Too late for what?"

"It'll be done soon. I can't be gone when the doctor comes. I promised."

"You know LT won't be awake for a long time," Nick said reasonably. "Just because the surgery is over, that doesn't mean you can see him."

"I have to be here," Murray said and picked up his book again. He was trying to read _I, Robot_, which had never before failed to capture his interest, but it wasn't working this time. He wished he could be asleep, too, and wake when his lover did. And, on the heels of that thought, he hoped he never put Ted through anything like this. It was the worst thing ever. Excepting death, of course. But he tried not to think about that.

"Murray?"

He started and dropped his book, suddenly too weak to stand.

"Doctor. How is he? Did—is he all right?"

"He's fine. He's in recovery; he was just starting to wake when I left. If you can sit very quietly and stay out of the way, I'll take you in."

"Yes, please. Thank you. Nick, can you wait here?"

"Sure. I'll call Cody and let him know what's going on, but I'll be here when you get back."

Murray stood up, leaning heavily on Nick's shoulder with one hand, and breathed deeply until his knees stopped shaking. He followed the doctor down corridors and through doorways, getting thoroughly lost but fetching up at Quinlan's bedside, proving once again that all roads lead home.

He pulled up a chair and sat close, making himself small so the nurses wouldn't complain, and stroked the sleeping man's right arm with the tips of his fingers. It had been a long time since he'd seen Quinlan so still and helpless and it scared him more than anything that had happened so far. His pale skin and shallow respiration were to be expected for a patient who'd just had major surgery, but Murray had seen men die before, and they also looked like this. Standing in the doorway between life and death, everyone looked the same. He kept telling himself that his lieutenant was coming in, not going out, but he badly needed some kind of sign.

After maybe five minutes of delicate caresses, Quinlan's breathing hitched and he licked his lips. Without opening his eyes, he spoke one word.

"Murray?"

"It's me, Lieutenant. I'm right here."

"Murray?" he whispered again, his poor voice dry and cracked. He turned his head a little and tried to open his eyes.

"I'm right here," Murray said, touching his face with gentle fingertips. "It's all right, Ted. I'm here."

"It hurts. God, baby, it hurts," he sighed.

"I know it does. Just relax, Lieutenant. Don't fight it. Sleep a little longer and you'll feel better."

"What if I don't wake up?"

"You will, I promise. I'll sit right here and make sure."

"…love you…" he breathed, already slipping away. Murray leaned over and kissed his forehead, whispered _I love you, too_, and refused to be embarrassed when he saw two nurses staring.

"You and your father must be very close," one of them said, coming over to check Quinlan's blood pressure.

"We are, but that doesn't have anything to do with Ted," he said innocently, still running his fingers over the jagged scar that framed Quinlan's closed eye.

"Oh? We thought he must be your dad. Is he your uncle, then?" She was writing down the numbers and not really paying attention.

"He's the love of my life," Murray said and pretended not to notice when she dropped her pen. She snatched it up and scurried away, the other nurse right behind her, and Murray made a mental note to tell Nick about that when he got the chance. His friend would see the humor.

They stayed in recovery until Quinlan was more awake, groggy but able to sip a little water, and then he was moved to the room where he would spend the next six to eight days. Through it all, he drifted in and out, talking some, but not paying much attention to what was said. Tomorrow, when he was really awake, he wouldn't remember any of this. But even though it would be forgotten in the post-anesthetic haze, these moments were important in themselves, and Murray stayed close, doing everything he could to make them easier.

Nick made his way in later that evening, expecting to find Quinlan still asleep. But he was awake, mostly, and watching Murray make up the little cot where he would sleep as long as they were there. His expression was unreadable, tired and hurting, yes, but mixed in with those obvious signs were other things that Nick didn't recognize.

"Hey, LT," he said lightly, setting their bags down by Murray's cot. "How are you doing?"

"How do you think?" Quinlan snarled, and his voice was that of the man he'd been a long time ago. The one they hadn't seen since Murray taught him how to laugh.

"Well, are they treating you okay? Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I don't need your pity, Ryder."

"No, I know you don't," he said cautiously, glancing at Murray for help. But the skinny man looked exhausted, on the verge of tears and in no way prepared to mediate a pointless argument between two people he loved. "I'll just go on home, then. Cody and I—we'll come by tomorrow and see how you're doing, okay?"

"Whatever you want," he sighed and closed his eyes.

"Yeah. Murray, you give us a call if you need anything. Even if it's the middle of the night, okay? Anything at all."

"I will, Nick. Thank you."

Quinlan shot him an angry look and Murray wilted a little. Nick was starting to get mad himself, but held it in with admirable restraint. A lot of people got cranky, or even downright mean, coming out of anesthesia, and Ted been through a lot over the last few weeks. The best thing was almost certainly to leave them alone and let him sleep it off. He said goodbye, and though Ted didn't respond, Murray gave him a grateful little smile that almost reached his eyes.

"You didn't have to be rude," he said when Nick was gone. "He's just trying to help."

"I don't want to see him. I don't need his charity, or yours."

"It's not charity, Ted. It's friendship, and we're lucky to have it."

"As long as I've known those guys, they've had everything and they've lorded it over me. Now it's going to start all over again."

"You're just tired, Lieutenant." Murray leaned over the bedrail and tenderly caressed his cheek.

"Don't patronize me, damn it. I'm not a child."

"I know you're not. You're my man and I love you, but right now you're being an ass. Go to sleep and we'll talk about it tomorrow."

"If I'm such an ass, what are you even doing here?"

"I love you, Ted. But that doesn't mean you can't be an ass sometimes, or that I won't notice." He bent and kissed the dry lips, hushing whatever last protest there might have been, and then just stood there until he was sure his lover was asleep.

***

"Are you still reading those books?" Quinlan asked, poking irritably at his lime Jell-O. "I've had the surgery. What else do you need to know?"

"There's a lot of stuff, Ted. You should read some yourself. You know, when they cut back your medication enough that you can focus your eyes again."

"That's not the deal. You're supposed to do the reading and fill me in. I know I'm stuck with this damn catheter for three weeks, and I'll be lucky if I'm not in diapers after. What else is there?"

"Well, the sooner you start trying to get erections, the more likely you are to succeed. It's something like staying in the habit, or maybe just retraining the nerves. Dr. Johnston said he was able to save most of both nerve bundles, so that gives you a good chance."

Quinlan had heard some of that during the two days since his surgery, but he hadn't paid much attention. This was the first morning he was really alert and interested in the world around him, and so far he was finding it disappointing.

"Chance of what? Getting it up?"

"Yes. You had good, firm, long lasting erections before, so that means you have a better than average chance of having them again. And until you do, you can still have orgasms."

"Yeah, big deal."

"It _is_ a big deal." Murray put his book aside and picked up the hand that wasn't fiddling with the Jell-O.

"Yeah, so I can come. But if I'm not hard, what's in it for you?"

"Exploration," he said promptly. "The chance to learn more about our bodies, and different ways to please each other. It could be a lot of fun, Lieutenant."

"I had to marry a scientist," Quinlan grumbled, but he was starting to smile a little. "Hey, I just thought of something."

"What's that?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't the prostate make most of the semen?"

"Yes, most of it. Some comes from the seminal vesicles, and some from the testicles, and a little from a few other glands."

"So if the prostate's gone, and the whatdoyoucallit—"

"Seminal vesicles."

"Right. If those are both gone, does that mean less—semen?"

"Well, yes. Almost none, in fact. Didn't the doctor explain that?"

"No. You're supposed to tell me shit like that. It's in the books, right?"

"Yes, but—I'm sorry. It never occurred to me that you didn't know. I thought it was—well—obvious."

"So I can come, but there won't be any—come?"

"That's right. There might be a little, you know, from the other glands, but—well, it'll be different."

"Different how? Murray, tell me straight. How different is this gonna be?"

He sounded so wounded and afraid, Murray could have kicked himself for not making sure Ted understood all of this before he ever checked into the hospital. But he hadn't wanted to talk and Murray didn't know how deep his ignorance ran. He was forever taking for granted that everyone knew the same things he did, no matter how much evidence he saw to the contrary.

"Well, that's hard to say. Everyone's a little different. You might have normal erections in a few weeks, or months, or in a couple years, or never. But you can still have orgasms; it's just a matter of figuring out what feels good."

"I already know what feels good. I figured that out when I was twelve," he said, his voice tight with unspoken warnings.

"Well, yes, but that might be different, too. But we'll figure it out. And when we do, you won't come in the same way. Like I said, there will be some fluid, but there's this muscle, it's called the—well, never mind. It doesn't matter what it's called. What's important is that it acts like a—a butterfly valve and keeps all the fluids going the right way. You don't have that anymore, so when you come, the semen will run back into your bladder instead."

"Holy crap. None of my plumbing's going to work right? Is that what you're saying?"

"Well, right is subjective. It'll work. That's the important thing."

"That's your opinion," he said and shoved the lunch tray away.

"Okay, Lieutenant. What's your opinion?"

"That I'm a pretty fucking sorry excuse for a man."

"No, Ted. You're every bit as much a man as you were a week ago, or a year ago. You don't need semen to prove that."

"But I like it," he said with the air of a child confessing a shameful secret. "I like everything about it. The smell, the taste, the way it feels coming out. I like filling you with it, and shooting for distance on your skinny chest. No one told me that was gonna be over."

"I—I don't know what to say. I'm sorry. I never thought that you didn't know. But when it comes to taste and smell, you can always play with mine, if that helps."

"A little. Will I still be able to fuck you at all? Am I actually gonna have real hard-ons, or is it just gonna be this limp dick shit forever?"

"I don't know. I hope so. Remember, we talked about cock rings before. If I can get you hard and put it on, you can do whatever you want."

"Maybe."

"Yes, maybe. But stressing about it won't help. The more you worry, the more difficult it will be. You need to remember that there's time and we'll make it, even if it takes a while. I won't get tired of waiting, Ted. I won't leave you or cheat on you or try to pressure you into anything you aren't ready to do. Even if it takes years, or it never happens. You won't disappoint me."

"I'll disappoint myself. And you deserve better. You deserve everything you want, and if I can't give it to you…"

"But you _can_. You're what I want, so you're the only person who can give it to me."

"See if you're still saying that when you haven't been laid in six months."

"Be serious, Lieutenant. What do you really see happening? Do you think I'll move out? Can you really envision a discussion where I say that I don't want to be with you anymore? Because I can't. I can't even imagine what that might sound like."

"Time was, I couldn't imagine what words I'd say to get you into bed, but I did it. I was fucking you before you even liked me."

"I liked you. I didn't trust you, but I liked you." He moved his chair closer to the bed and leaned his elbows on the mattress, holding Quinlan's hand in both of his. "I remember that day, Ted. I remember how it felt the first time you slipped your finger inside me. I was so scared—it was the strangest thing I'd ever done with anyone, and doing it with you was just—unreal. But you made it feel good. You made me want something that had been unthinkable ten minutes before. And I'm pretty sure it's enough. If you just do that, I'll be happy."

"But I can't. That's the point."

"No, you misunderstand. You finger me, I suck you, everyone comes and everyone's happy. So long as it's you and me, we'll be fine. If you don't believe that, Ted, you'd better tell me now. Because I'm prepared to go all the way with you on this, and if you're not prepared to go all the way with me, then you'd better have a plan B worked out."

"No, Murray, I want you. I don't have a plan B. At least not one where I live. But after we go home—if you see how fucked up I am and change your mind—how can I stand that?"

"Ted, we've been together for five years. I've seen you fucked up. Remember when you burned your hands rewiring the doorbell and I dressed you and fed you and wiped your butt for two weeks? Remember the food poisoning when you wouldn't go to the hospital and puked in every room of the house? Remember how I cleaned up after you and never said a word? And two months later, I got the flu and you did it for me. That's marriage, remember?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Baby, I—I don't trust anyone, but I trust you. Just don't—don't let me down. Not now. I couldn't stand it now."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Lieutenant, it's going to be fine. Somehow, I promise you, it's going to be fine. Now finish your lunch, okay? Nick and Cody are coming up to see you and you want to be strong and rested."

"I don't want to see them," he said petulantly.

"Why not?"

"I just don't feel like it. Tell them they don't have to make the drive. It's not worth it."

"Ted, what is it? They're your friends and they're worried about you."

"Is this about them, Murray? Are their feelings what I'm supposed to be worrying about here?"

"No, of course not. If that's what you want, I'll call and tell them not to come," he said, his tone hurt and bewildered.

"Thank you. I don't want to eat any more, either. I'll just take a nap, if you don't mind."

"Whatever you want. I love you, Ted." Murray kissed him and Quinlan closed his eyes. But he never really slept and Murray could tell the difference. He called the store and told Nick that Quinlan wasn't up for company, unable to explain it any better than that because he didn't understand it himself.

***

On Monday morning, Nick and Cody appeared without calling ahead, taking away his option of saying no.

"Who's minding the store?" he asked instead of saying hello.

"Jack. We'll be back there long before closing so there's no reason he can't handle it," Cody said. "How are you doing?"

"Fine. But you could have asked me that on the phone. No reason to drive all the way up here."

"Well, no," Nick said sharply. "Not if you're gonna be like this. We wanted to see you in person, make sure you're okay, but if you don't want us around—"

This was the part where Quinlan was supposed to smile and apologize, maybe even thank them for caring enough to come. This was the part where it all got straightened out with a laugh. But instead, he closed his eyes and said, "I don't."

"Don't what?" Murray asked, thinking he'd missed something.

"I don't want them around. Just go away, why don't you? Go do whatever it is healthy people are doing today and leave me alone."

Murray bit his lip and got up, herding his friends toward the door. It wasn't a good idea to let Quinlan get agitated right now.

"What's going on here?" Cody whispered and he shook his head shortly.

"Murray, where are you going?" Ted called, already agitated.

"Just out in the hall. I'll be right back. It's okay, Lieutenant." He opened the door and nudged Cody through, and Cody pulled Nick along.

"Okay, what the hell is going on?" Nick asked. "He's the one who made us promise to come over and look after you."

"I know, and I appreciate it, guys. Really. And I'm sorry about Ted. I really don't know what's wrong—he's been sliding like this ever since the surgery, but I've been waiting for him to feel better before I try to talk to him about it."

"So what approach do you want to take here, Boz? Do we keep coming back and proving we care, or do we back off and give him a chance to get over it?"

"I don't know, Cody. I—I just don't know." He slumped against the wall and took off his glasses to rub his eyes. Cody laid a friendly hand on his shoulder and the expression that crossed Murray's face was a combination of gratitude and fear.

"He made us promise to look after you," Cody said. "I think that's what we should do. Nick, you're good in these situations. Why don't you go in there and sit with him while Murray and I go get something to eat?"

"He's not going to like that," Murray said, shaking his head.

"He'll live."

They wouldn't let Murray go back into the room, knowing that Quinlan would be able to talk him out of leaving, and the betrayal was clear on the lieutenant's face when Nick went in alone.

"Where's Murray?"

"He's going to get some lunch with Cody. I'll stay here, LT. You won't be alone."

"It's starting already," he sighed. "Why didn't you go with them?"

"Because we didn't want to leave you alone."

"He said he was coming back."

"He will. Man, have you looked at him lately? He's exhausted, and if I know him as well as _you know_ I do, he hasn't had any real food since you've been here. Just give him an hour and then he'll come back and dedicate himself anew to your service."

"He's gonna leave me," Quinlan sighed.

"What? Why would you think that?"

"Why shouldn't he? You just said it. He's tired and hungry—I'm wearing him out and there's nothing in it for him. He'd rather be with Cody, and why not? A healthy man his own age has a lot more to offer him."

Nick sat down in Murray's chair and just barely restrained himself from shaking the other man.

"He wouldn't rather be with Cody. We practically had to force him to go. And he didn't come say goodbye because if he did, he wouldn't have been able to leave. It's just lunch, man. He's hungry."

"For now. What about a week from now? Or a month? I'm no use to him and he's going to realize it."

"You might be right," Nick shrugged. "If all you can do is lay there and feel sorry for yourself, you're no use to anyone. But Ted Quinlan was always good for him. He was so happy, moving into that house where he had room to work, and then buying the store so he could be in business with his partner. It'd take a real asshole to wreck all that for him, and if that's what you want to do, he really would be better off alone."

"I don't want to ruin his life. That's the point."

"Then don't. Look, it's normal to be depressed in the hospital, especially after major surgery. Things are going to get better."

"You don't know that. You're young and healthy and you still have all your sex organs. You don't get to lecture me on what's normal."

"Then who does? Look, you've taken care of Murray lots of times. He's always had body issues and self-esteem problems and this overwhelming fear that he isn't a real man. And no matter how sick or defenseless he was, you always insisted it didn't matter."

"He's always been man enough for me."

"So why is it so hard to believe that doesn't go both ways?"

"Because it _doesn't_. I've always been the dominant one. He's always wanted me to be in charge. What's he going to think of me when I'm not?"

"I don't know, man. You should ask him."

"Shit."

"I'm serious. Murray's perfectly capable of being in charge when he needs to be. Just let him take care of you for a while, and you can renegotiate when you're feeling better."

"He's gonna get tired of it."

"Do you really think so? Seriously? Imagine him leaving you now. Pretend he just said goodbye and you know he's not coming back."

Quinlan's face paled and he closed his eyes as if in pain.

"Does that feel right? Can you just accept it, or do you feel betrayed?"

"Hurts like hell," he whispered, not opening his eyes.

"There you go. You can shovel enough self-pitying bullshit to fill two barns, but your heart knows it's wrong. You know he loves you and you know he's going to stay no matter what. You know it the same way I know Cody's coming back for me. You can't imagine a day without him, and I guarantee he feels the same."

"It's not fair."

"No, it isn't. But you're no crybaby. You've been through two wars. You're a gay man who spent almost twenty years married to a woman. You're tougher than this."

"He told you that, huh?"

"Yeah. We don't have a lot of secrets in the family, and you're one of us now. You have been for a while."

"It's hard to believe," he sighed, meeting Nick's eyes for the first time.

"What is? That you're part of the family?"

"Yeah. I've never had a family that—that _wanted_ me before. Murray was like a lost puppy before you guys took him in, but he could have gone home. He had a home to go to. I never have. Not one where I could be myself."

"Well, if home really is the place where, when you go there, they have to let you in, then you have one now. Murray's never going to turn his back on you. He just doesn't do that. So all you have to decide is whether you're going to accept it and be happy, or keep acting like an asshole until he regrets being such a great guy."

"Those are my only options?"

"I'm afraid so."

Quinlan was silent for a moment, looking around the room at everything except Nick. The silence seemed to last a lot longer than it actually did.

"What if you're wrong?" he asked in a very small, frightened voice. It was a tone no one but Murray had heard in a very long time.

"What?"

"I said what if you're wrong? What if I trust him with all of—this—and he leaves me after all?"

"That's always been a risk, man. He could have left anytime, you know."

"Sure, but why would he? I used to give him everything he wanted. A week ago, I could work all day and fuck him all night, even if I am old enough to be his father. We had a good thing going. Now I don't have anything to offer, and if he leaves, I don't have anything to attract anyone else."

"So that's your real problem, is it? You can't lose him because you can't get anyone else?"

"It's a consideration. Not the main one, but it's on the list. Fucking is a lot higher. He could leave me when he finds out what it's really like not to get any."

"Man, Murray can go years without getting any. And besides, according to the books I've been reading, it's not that cut and dried. If you can find something that satisfies you, he'll be happy with it. That's just the way he is."

"He's too good for me. I hate making the kid settle when he could have so much more. I'm sixty years old. I got no business being with a guy who's not even forty."

"He loves you. That's all that matters and you know it. Now suck it up, LT, or you're going to be in a whole other world of hurt. And if that doesn't bother you, remember that he will be, too."

"Shit," he said again.

"Yeah. So are you going to get it together and cooperate with him or not?"

"I guess I have to. So you've been reading the books, too?"

"Murray loaned me a couple. I guess it was a good thing, really. We didn't know anything about prostate cancer, but it could happen to anyone, couldn't it?"

"Seems like it. No harm in being informed, right?"

"Yeah. Cody wouldn't read them, though. If he gets it, he'll probably be just like you, and I'll get to take on Murray's role."

"Hopefully I'll be dead by then."

"Better live as long as you can, though. Murray would be lost without you."

"I'll do my best," he sighed. "But can I ask a favor?"

"Anything."

"Don't tell him we had this little chat, okay?"

"Sure. We can let him think you matured on your own if you want."

Quinlan smiled faintly instead of giving him the finger. It was a real sign of growth.

***

The guys came back the next morning while Quinlan was eating his breakfast. He didn't like it, but he was eating for the strength it might provide. Eggs, toast, orange juice and coffee. There had been two pieces of bacon, but he made Murray eat them. He needed his strength, too.

"Morning, Ted," Cody said cheerfully. "Here, don't eat that crap. We brought doughnuts."

"Really?"

"Yep. There's a chocolate covered bismarck just for you. We left a box at the nurse's station in your name, too, so you'll get extra attention today." He pulled the bismarck out of the bag and handed it over with a tiny wink. Quinlan thanked him and ate it without further comment.

"That's so nice of you," Murray said, taking the glazed doughnut Cody offered. "We get to celebrate after all, don't we, Ted?"

"Celebrate what?" Nick asked. "Are you going home early or something?"

"Getting my drains out today."

"Hey, great. Does that get you closer to getting out?"

"Thursday, I think. Why are you so anxious to see me go home?" he asked curiously. Murray wiped the chocolate from the corner of Ted's mouth with his fingertips and licked them slowly.

"Just wanting to see you back on your feet," Nick shrugged.

"That's going to be a lot later than Thursday. I'm looking forward to getting back to the store, though. How's it going?"

"Good. A lot of people have been in asking about you. And business is steady, even when Jack's there alone."

"Is he doing all right?" Murray asked.

"Yeah, he's great with the customers and he even fixed a couple computer problems. Nothing major, but more than we could have done without him. There are a few people who need the genuine Bozinsky touch, and they're going to contact you when you get home. You wanted to keep working, right?"

"Yeah, I can do those things in my office while Ted's resting."

"Or sitting beside you watching," Quinlan suggested. "I don't want to be in bed all the time."

"Sure, Lieutenant. Whatever you want." He didn't know what happened yesterday, why Quinlan was so angry and miserable in the morning and then so reasonable in the afternoon, but he was very glad they were on the same side again.

Nick filled them in on the gossip from around the pier, what was going on with Mama Jo, and how the tenants association was regretting not having the Riptide detectives on the job now that there was a new string of vandalisms occurring. A couple of Quinlan's cop friends had been over to ask if they could come visit, and he seemed to consider the offer seriously before saying no.

"Why not?" Murray asked, hoping it wouldn't trigger a setback.

"I just don't want a lot of people seeing—this. Let me meet them with some dignity, okay?"

"Ted, no one cares about—"

"_I_ care," he interrupted firmly. "Look, I'm not getting upset. I'm not throwing a fit, I just don't want to see people yet. They can wait until I get home."

"Does that still go for us?" Nick asked, half teasing.

"Hell no. You're not people, you're family."

But they still had to leave when Dr. Johnston came to remove the drains from his incision. Murray stayed and held his hand, as he always did, and Quinlan tried hard not to show that it hurt. Johnston was good, though, and gave him a little extra morphine when he was done. He stayed for a few minutes to talk, answering all the new questions that this step forward brought up, but the painkiller worked quickly and Ted fell asleep without hearing all the answers. He talked to Murray, instead, and went away confident that his patient would be well informed.

***

It was the arrival of the dinner tray that woke him, and Quinlan thought at first that he was blind. He cried out and the nurse tried to calm him, but he was having none of her and called for Murray until he felt the familiar hands on his shoulders.

"I can't see," he gasped, too panicked to even be ashamed of it. "Murray, why can't I see?"

"It's okay, Ted. It's just stuff in your eyes. They were watering in your sleep, that's all. Let me get a washcloth—"

"No," he said sharply and reached to rub at his eye with one hand. Murray caught his wrist and asked the nurse to get a washcloth for him.

"Don't, Ted, you'll just pull out your eyelashes. It's okay, really."

"Hold onto me," he whispered, too quietly for the nurse to overhear.

"I'm here. It's okay." He held Ted's hand in one of his and stroked his cheek with the other, keeping him calm. He really wished this hadn't happened today, of all possible days. Any other time and Ted would have rubbed his eyes and shrugged it off, but for a post-op cancer patient, waking up blind in his hospital bed was just too much.

The nurse returned with a warm cloth and Murray washed his eyes tenderly, taking a long time to soften the crusts so he wouldn't have to rub. The nurse watched, making little jokes as if to lighten the mood, until Murray told her she could go. He thought Quinlan wouldn't like to see her laughing face, and he was right.

"I've never had that happen before," he said as his eyelids came unstuck. "Shitty timing, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, it could have waited. Hold still; you're still gooey."

Oddly, in spite of his earlier terror, and that's what it was, though he'd never admit it, this was possibly the best he'd felt since he entered the hospital. Murray's hands were gentle and sure, holding his head still and cleaning the softened grit from his lashes, his voice kind, but teasing just a little now that the panic was over. Quinlan felt safe, free to be afraid and because of it, secure that there was nothing to fear.

Murray put the cloth aside and ran his thumbs lightly over Ted's closed eyes as a final finishing touch.

"Dr. Johnston had some good news this afternoon," he said as he sat down again. "He wanted to tell you personally, but you were asleep and we thought you needed the rest."

"Yeah? So what was it?"

"He got the results of your biopsies. The lymph nodes and surrounding tissues are all cancer free."

"What does that mean? Is it over?"

"Uh-huh. You officially don't have cancer anymore. There's no reason to do the radiation or anything."

"Huh," he said, knowing it was insufficient and unable to come up with anything else.

"Aren't you happy, Lieutenant? It's very good news."

"I—yeah, I guess I'm happy. I'm just—I didn't expect it. I guess I thought it was just gonna keep getting worse."

"Well, it's not. You can start putting it behind you now and focus on getting well."

He smiled dazedly and nodded, not quite sure yet what to think. His father had never had a moment like this, a hopeful break in the course of treatment when it seemed like he might have beaten it, and in his deepest heart, Ted had never expected that he would, either. He realized suddenly that he had been getting ready to die from the first time he saw blood in his urine. And now he was going to live. He struggled to sit up in the bed and reached for Murray with both hands. Their embrace was awkward and a little bit painful for the man with the six inch incision in his abdomen, but he was too relieved and, yes, happy, to really feel it.


	6. Aftercare

Nick and Cody arrived at noon the next day to take them home. Quinlan had one more burst of independence and made them wait outside while Dr. Johnston went over the last instructions, then let Murray help him dress. His body wouldn't tolerate much by way of clothing, just sweatpants and a t-shirt, without even his reliable boxers. It was more like pajamas and he didn't really feel dressed, even when Murray put his tennis shoes on him. With the catheter still inserted and a collection bag strapped to his left leg, it wasn't entirely like leaving the hospital. In fact, it was a little like taking it with him.

"Ever since I woke up after the surgery," he said quietly, "I've been wanting to go home. Now I'm scared shitless."

"What are you scared of?" Murray asked, sitting on the bed beside him.

"Everything. If something goes wrong, there ain't gonna be a team of doctors and nurses to take care of it. And I won't be able to lay around naked, pissing in bed all day."

"Sure you will. You'll be peeing at home the same way you are here, and you can stay naked as long as you want."

"But it ain't _right_. It's okay in the hospital, but at home, people are supposed to be well. Normal."

"Maybe it feels that way, but you know it's going to take time to recover. You're supposed to get up and walk around as much as you can, but no one expects you to be completely healed the first day."

"What about you? You're gonna be my nurse until—shit—how long?"

"As long as you need me to be."

"You're such a fool, kid."

"I always have been. I love you so much, Lieutenant."

"I don't know why, but that makes things a little less scary."

"I know why. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, I guess I am." But he held onto Murray's hand just a little bit longer, stole a kiss, and said he loved him, just to make sure he had all his ducks in a row. Murray pushed the nurse call button and the guys came back in to wait with them.

"First time I ever agreed with the leaving in a wheelchair policy," he said, a sad truth that tried to sound like a joke. The nurse had him sign half a dozen forms, none of which he read, and none of which he was expected to, and let Nick help him into the chair. There was a brief debate and then she stepped aside, letting them leave on their own.

As soon as they were out of the building, Quinlan asked them to stop and let him breathe for just a minute. The September sun was warm on his face, a mind breeze ruffled his thinning hair, and he thought maybe he'd never been so glad to be alive. Murray took his hand, not caring who was watching because if you couldn't hold hands in a hospital parking lot in LA, then what the hell was the point of being in LA, and held it all the way to the car.

Cody helped him up while Murray got in the car, sliding all the way over to the edge of the seat so Ted could lie down. His face twitched with pain as he moved and Murray winced in sympathy, hating that he couldn't help. But when Ted was beside him, his head in Murray's lap, it wasn't so bad.

"Are you comfortable?" Murray asked and got a rueful smile in return.

"I'll be okay. I just want to get home."

The stops and starts of midday downtown traffic were hard on him, but once they got on the freeway it was a lot better. He kept his right knee bent, his foot firmly on the seat, and his left foot on the floor for stability, as well as the gravity he needed for his catheter to work. It crossed his mind that that might be a problem at home, in his own bed, but Murray would surely figure it out. He was the problem solver in their family. In fact, Murray was proving that at the moment by rubbing his temple, soothing away a headache that had only just begun to form. Quinlan closed his eyes and went to sleep.

***

If they had closed the store instead of leaving Jack in charge, Nick and Cody would have stayed for supper. But Jack didn't have keys and he wasn't quite at the level where he could take the money home with him, so they left Quinlan settled on the sofa with Murray to fuss over him. Jane brought back their cat, who was almost dog-like in his enthusiasm over seeing them again, but she didn't stay long, either. It was obvious that Ted was tired and Murray had work to do.

"What would you like to eat?" he asked, as he exchanged Ted's shoes for slippers. "There's a frozen lasagna, or I could make some soup."

"I'm not hungry, baby. You make whatever you want."

"You have to eat something, Lieutenant. Doctor's orders. How about chicken noodle soup with the mushy crackers like you like?"

"I don't know," he said, but his resolve was slipping. He was sore and sick and miserable, but his instinct to please Murray was as strong as always. Those soft brown eyes pleaded so eloquently, there was nothing he could do but give in. "All right, but I'm not gonna eat much."

"That's okay. I'll get you some water so you can take your pills." He was on antibiotics as well as Oxycodone for the pain, and Murray was in charge of doling them out. Tomorrow, Quinlan would probably make another strike for independence, but tonight he didn't mind being cared for. It was comforting, after a week in the hospital, to know he wasn't entirely on his own just yet.

He swallowed the pills and drank all of the water under Murray's watchful eye. Then he turned on the TV and dozed while Murray heated soup and crumbled crackers into it until it was more solid than liquid. It gave them all the benefits of soup but was easier to eat with a spoon. Sometimes he put in enough crackers that it could be eaten with a fork. Today he showed a little restraint and the spoon sufficed. Quinlan ate half of it and wanted to go to bed.

"Have you figured out how this is gonna work?" he asked sleepily, sitting on the edge of the bed and struggling free of his shirt.

"I think so." Murray caught the tail of his shirt and eased it over his head, then helped him lie down and pulled his pants off. Quinlan had replaced the collection bag a few minutes ago, and Murray slipped off the elastic bands that held it to his leg. They had gone over their options with the doctor and decided to use the same bags at night, rather than switching to the bigger ones that they had used in the hospital. Murray used a pair of alligator clips, their teeth wrapped in tape so they didn't bite through the plastic, to fasten it to the ground sheet on the side of the bed, and helped Quinlan find a comfortable position on his left side so the catheter wouldn't pull. He knew it was unpleasant for his lover, more from humiliation than physical discomfort, and Ted seemed to relax a lot more when he was safely covered with the light blankets. Murray got a glass of water and an extra pill to leave on his nightstand, in case he should wake in pain, and then put on his own pajamas.

But when he got into bed, he didn't quite know what to do. He was on the wrong side, for one thing. His side was closer to the door and it seemed reasonable to give it to Quinlan to spare him the walk, but that meant if he tried to sleep on his right side, the way he always did, he would have to turn his back. That would be almost too different, on top of everything else. He wanted to cuddle up close and hold his lover, as he hadn't been able to for the last week, but he didn't know if it would be welcome. Ted had always, at least until recently, been the one to hold him, and he might not appreciate the change in their roles. He might not want to be bothered at all when he was hurting and trying to sleep.

"Murray?"

"Yes?" He turned automatically toward the other man and laid a worried hand on his arm.

"Murray, don't—I mean, do you have to be so far away?"

"I can be as close as you want."

"That'd be pretty close."

"Okay," he said simply and pressed the length of his body against Quinlan's back, slipping his left arm under his neck and his right across the broad chest, hugging him loosely, feeling his breathing slow down and gradually even out. When they were still, Catloaf hopped onto the bed and curled up on Ted's pillow.

"I'm gonna get better soon, right?"

"Yes, Lieutenant. Very soon."

"You're a good kid, Murray. Every time I tell you that, I think I know it as deep as possible. But you keep doing more, making it more—true. Is there ever gonna be an end to how—how good you are?"

"I don't know," he said, smiling patiently behind Quinlan's back. He knew it was the medication talking, but it was still sort of flattering. "I hope not."

"I never met anyone as good as you, Murray. As sweet and honest and patient. All these years—must have been a hundred times you should have yelled at me and you never do. Never did. Never belted me when I had it coming."

"You never had it coming, Lieutenant. And I did yell a couple of times."

"Last year, when you went to that conference in Seattle and I accused you of going just to meet that geek you were emailing—I really thought you were gonna fuck him. You should've hit me for that."

"You didn't think that, Ted. Did you?"

"I did," he said, and the heat of his skin and the acceleration of his heart rate told Murray it was true.

"You thought I was going to the conference to sleep with a man I'd never even met in person? After four years together, you didn't trust me any more than that?"

"That's why you should've belted me. Figured you'd start talking shop, have a couple drinks, and realize you had a lot more in common with him than with some old man who don't know software from Shinola."

"Well, that did happen," he said casually and felt Quinlan stop breathing. "We talked shop, had a couple drinks, and went over all the things we had in common. Although none of it was a surprise. After all the emails, we knew perfectly well that we shared a lot of interests and abilities. Then he went back to his room with his boyfriend, and I went to my room and called you. Remember that, Ted? You talked dirty and we jerked off over the phone together? And I never guessed you didn't trust me."

"I'm such an asshole," he sighed and Murray kissed his neck softly.

"No, Lieutenant. You just think I'm valuable and you don't understand why other people don't see it, too. That guy, Henry, had a boyfriend every bit as geeky as me but a lot more attractive. And I mean _Cody_ attractive. He wouldn't have slept with me if I'd begged him. Which I wouldn't do, because I'd much rather jerk off over the phone with you. Now stop worrying and go to sleep."

"You really never thought about it?"

"Thought about what? Cheating on you? No, I never did."

"I have."

"Have what? Cheated, or thought about it?" Murray was unconcerned, still thinking he was just looped on pain meds and probably not telling the truth anyway.

"Thought about it. That guy we had working in the store last year, Deke something—he was hot."

This time it was Murray that stopped breathing and swallowed hard. Quinlan didn't seem to notice and went on.

"I don't know why he wanted me, but he flirted any time you weren't around. I knew better, but I been old for so long and a guy like that—he could have anyone he wanted. So I let him flirt, until you went to Seattle and he tried to take it farther."

"What—what happened?" Murray asked hoarsely.

"He kissed me in the stockroom and I fired him. I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have let it go that far. Should have fired him sooner, or at least told you about it."

"So why are you telling me now?"

"I don't know. Maybe 'cause I don't deserve you and you ought to know it."

"Did you kiss him back?"

"No. I was pissed that you were off at that conference getting laid, but—soon as he touched me, I knew it wasn't true. I always knew it wasn't true. You wouldn't even let another guy kiss you, would you?"

"No, I wouldn't," he said faintly. "But you're gay. You're going to look at men. I'm just—I don't know what I am. I don't look at anyone."

"You don't? Not even those girls on the beach in the thong bikinis?"

"Oh, well, I _look_ at them. They're pretty and everything, but so are flowers and sunsets. It doesn't mean I want to _fuck_ them."

"Murray, I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"No, you want to relieve your guilt, that's your right. Is there anything else I should know? Anyone else you kissed or fucked or wished you could fuck when I was out of the way?" He heard himself getting angry, knew he shouldn't be raising his voice at his lover, who only wanted absolution, but the stress of the last few weeks had left him unprepared for this level of betrayal. Quinlan tried to turn over, tried to face him and better express his sincerity, but the pain in his belly wouldn't let him.

"No, Murray, baby—no. I never wanted anyone but you. I never touched anybody, and Deke was the only one who ever touched me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let him…"

"It's all right," Murray sighed, angling his left arm awkwardly to stroke Ted's forehead. "These things happen, I guess." He took a deep breath and told what was possibly his first intentional lie of their entire relationship, knowing it was what Ted needed to hear in order to sleep. "I'm glad you told me, Lieutenant. I—I appreciate your honesty."

"…never wanted to hurt you, baby, I swear," he mumbled.

"I know. It was a year ago, though, and it's not like you slept with him. I—I understand." His second intentional lie, but still for a good cause. Murray thought that if someone had hit on him like that (not that anyone would, of course, but if they did), he would tell Quinlan right away and let him vent his possessive rage. There was nothing in him that really understood letting a man flirt for weeks or months without intending to do something about it. And when he thought of himself in Seattle, missing Quinlan and wishing he hadn't gone (even though the trip led to a lot of lucrative programming and publishing opportunities), not knowing that Quinlan was making out with the part-time help in the stockroom and thinking about going all the way, he felt cold and sick inside. It was like seeing the blood in Ted's semen for the first time and knowing that nothing would ever be the same again. But this time his lover had brought it on them deliberately.

"I love you, baby," Quinlan sighed, and Murray felt the hot splash of a tear against his forearm.

"I know, Lieutenant. I love you, too." That was true, at least. Maybe the only thing he knew for sure was true tonight. Murray soothed and petted him until he drifted into a fitful sleep, then reached carefully for the pill bottles on the nightstand. The second one was the one he wanted, half full of the Xanax tablets that Quinlan hardly ever took. Murray worked the cap off with one hand and fished out a pill to dissolve on his tongue, since he couldn't drink without sitting up. After a while, he slept.

***

Quinlan woke with more types of pain than he could immediately identify. Everything below the waist was agony and something heavy rested on his chest. He tried to breathe deeply but his sinuses were clogged, almost as if he'd been crying. Suddenly he wanted to sit up more than anything, but a warm body was wrapped around him, holding him down. He squirmed carefully and the arm across his chest slid away, leaving him cold. But when he tried to push himself upright, his belly clenched and he fell back with a gasp. The arm that had been under his neck was gone now, too, and he was all alone in the dark. He tried once more to sit up and the clenching ache turned into a sharp, stabbing agony that ripped across his abdomen and took his breath away.

Now he wasn't sure if it was the incision or the pressure in his bladder that hurt worse, but one of them was easier to fix than the other. He reached for the pill that sat in a shallow saucer on the nightstand, and then realized he wouldn't be able to swallow it. His mouth was cottony dry and he couldn't sit up enough to drink from the glass of water that they'd been so forward thinking as to bring for the purpose. In other words, he was screwed.

"Murray," he whispered, ashamed to be begging for help at—quick glance at the clock—three seventeen a.m. And of a man he had just confessed to cheating on, even if it was just a kiss. Quinlan had been hurt worse in his life; he had felt this helpless a time or two, and he had certainly been this guilty, but never all at the same time. If he'd had a gun, he might have shot himself in that moment. But his gun was in the dresser on the other side of the bed, so far away it might as well have been on the moon.

"Murray, please," he said a little louder, and the other man leapt awake.

"What is it?" Murray asked, so kindly that Quinlan didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I can't sit up. Help me?"

"Sure. Sure, just a second." He turned on the lamp and got his glasses, suspecting there might be more to it than just that. Then he knelt and worked his arm behind Quinlan's shoulders, lifted him against his chest and held him as he sniffled and gasped for air. "Tell me what you need," Murray said quietly.

"Just a pill. I could reach it, but I couldn't work the—the glass," he said, picking it up easily now and drinking half before he swallowed the pill. "And I feel like I gotta piss so bad I'm gonna explode. Fucking hurts."

"Maybe the bag's full. If you're ready to lie down, I'll check."

"Yeah, okay," he sighed, putting the empty glass back on the table. "I'm sorry, kid."

"What for?" Murray asked, laying him down and sliding out of bed. He went around to the other side and knelt on the floor, waiting for an answer.

"Everything. Waking you up, making you fool with my piss, all of it. Especially after I went and dumped my dirty laundry on you."

"Forget it, Lieutenant. I'd like to," he said shortly, his dark head bowed over his work. "Here's the problem. Just a little air in the tube." He flicked it a couple of times and changed the angle a bit. Suddenly the bag was filling and Quinlan sighed with relief.

"Is there any blood?"

"A little. It's not too bad. Are you comfortable like that, or do you want to be on your side again?"

"This is good," he said humbly. God, five years and the kid could humble him easier than ever. Murray turned off the light, put his glasses back on the nightstand, and got into bed. "Baby, come here," he whispered, holding out his arm. With some reluctance, Murray eased himself closer and laid his head on Quinlan's shoulder.

"Are you okay, Ted?"

"I'm fine. Gonna go back to sleep in a minute, but I wanted to tell you I—I'm sorry. I'm sorry for every shitty thing I ever said or did to you, whether you know about it or remember it or not. And I love you. Not just because you take care of me in the middle of the night, either."

"I know that. You wouldn't let me do it if you didn't love me first. And I also know you're just feeling guilty because you're sick. You've never done anything really terrible to me and you know it."

"You mean that? I—I haven't hurt you?"

"No, Lieutenant. Not badly, anyway. No more than I've hurt you, and I know I have. It's okay, I promise." He rose up just enough to kiss the trembling lips, then snuggled down beside him again.

"It's probably gonna happen again, you know."

"What is?"

"I'll hurt you. Get mad, lose my patience. Say things I shouldn't."

"I know. I might, too. It's not going to be an easy month, Ted. Or an easy six months. But if you promise not to say you should have gone ahead and fucked Deke, I'll promise not to say I'd be better off with a younger man, and we'll both be fine. Okay?"

"You know I don't think that, right? I'm glad I didn't do him."

"And I don't want a younger man. I love you, Lieutenant. But it's late and my head's killing me, so can we go to sleep?"

"Shouldn't have taken the whole pill, baby. Doc said with your bodyweight, you ought to take quarters. Hangovers are a bitch."

"Sneaky bastard," Murray sighed and kissed his chest softly.

"I see everything." He brought his other hand up to run through Murray's hair, and after a while they slept again.

***

The next morning, Quinlan wouldn't get out of bed. He let Murray change the bag for him, pinching the catheter with his padded alligator clip, and said nothing about the humiliation he felt. Today he was too old and worn out and worthless even to feel bad about it. He was sunk to a point where he didn't have to leave his bed to go to the bathroom, even in his own home, and he felt no gratitude for being alive.

Murray didn't argue. Not this time, not after last night. He showered alone and dressed under Quinlan's weary gaze, not talking because he was afraid of what he might say. All he offered was a hesitant smile as he left the room, giving Quinlan no idea when he was coming back, or even if. In the darkness of his new paranoia, _if_ seemed like a distinct possibility.

Five years ago, Ted Quinlan had been lonely and feared, a popular combination for effective law enforcement officers. Both of those traits had dissipated under the influence of Murray Bozinsky, the sweetest man he'd ever known. _Sweet_. That was maybe the best word for him, even before _genius_, or _geek_, or even _skinny_. His smile, his loving words and the soft whisper in which he so often spoke them, were indescribably sweet to the tired old man who was somehow lucky enough to provoke them. His mouth was sweet to kiss, the touch of his hands sweet on Ted's body—even the soft brown of his eyes was that of milk chocolate. Impossible to imagine it might be the bitter bakers' kind.

There was no way Ted could resist such sweetness, and he had no urge to drive it away. He wouldn't force the kid to leave him to save himself from being left. He might not have gone to college, but he was smarter than that. What he wondered was how long Murray could pour sweetness into the bitterness that was Ted's new life before it simply ran out. How long before Murray had no sweetness left, even for himself? Ted flattered himself that he had, if not exactly fed it over the years, at least not depleted it too badly. But he would now and he didn't see a way around it. The loving words would die away, the milk chocolate eyes would turn to mud, and there would be no joy anywhere for the man who had defined sweetness for Ted Quinlan since the day they met.

He was struck with the sudden urge to drag himself out of bed, put his pants on and start walking, just to see how far he could get. Down the block, maybe? To the end of the street? And what would he do when he got there, besides sit down and gasp for breath? Where did old people go when they reached the end? He wondered if Murray would know, as he seemed to know everything else. A scientist might not know where people went _when_ they died, but he would surely know where they should go _to_ die. It was a practical question, and practical was the second word he used to describe Murray, right after sweet.

Ted opened his mouth to ask the question when he saw Murray in the doorway, but it was derailed by the tray in his hands.

"You made me breakfast?" he asked instead.

"Of course I did. Here, we have pancakes, bacon and eggs," Murray smiled (oh, so sweetly), setting the tray down over his lap.

"And you put syrup on all of it."

"Just the way you like it. But you have to drink the orange juice before you get any coffee. Nutrition first, Lieutenant."

"Jesus, kid," he breathed, blinking back sudden tears. It was nothing to cry about, it was just breakfast, but at the same time it was. Right now, it was everything.

"Hang on one second," Murray said and left the room again. When he came back with his own plate, Ted had regained some kind of control and was cutting his pancakes with a dull knife. Murray sat on the other side of the bed, legs crossed, plate balanced on his knees, and tried to look unconcerned as he ate his own breakfast. "The bacon's not too crisp, is it?"

"No, baby, it's just right. Hey, what did Johnston say about showers? Am I allowed?"

"Yeah. You can even take off the bandages. It won't hurt the staples to get wet. But you might want to put new gauze over it after, just to keep it clean."

"Don't really want to look at staples in my skin anyway. Will you help me?"

"Sure. You know, I tried out the bench in the tub and it's pretty nice."

"For old people," he muttered.

"Hey, I'm not old and I liked it. Still, we'll get rid of it in a couple weeks. When you can step over the side of the tub a little easier."

"Thanks. Kid, I don't want to be old already," he said, staring at his plate.

"You're not. Everyone feels old after surgery. Remember when I got stabbed? It was just my arm, and I could hardly walk for two or three days. And that flu I had last winter? I felt about a hundred and five all week."

"That was your temperature most of the time, too. You were about an hour away from the hospital when it finally started to come down."

"Yes, and I was weak for days after. It just takes time to heal, Lieutenant. And we have time."

"Yeah, we have time," Quinlan agreed. He was already thinking about that shower.

When he refused to dress afterward, it wasn't so much indifference as it was practicality. Murray rebandaged his incision and helped him on with his robe, willing to concede that pants would only irritate it. Then he helped Quinlan settle on the sofa, where he would accomplish nothing, but at least was upright and not in bed.

"Can I do anything else?" Murray asked, covering his legs with a blanket. "Can I get you anything?"

"No, babe. Not right now. Sit down and watch some crap TV with me. _The Flintstones_ is on."

Murray got a book and sank down beside him, watching Fred and Barney hunt Snorkasaurus with one eye and reading a technical manual with the other.

"This was always my favorite episode," Quinlan said suddenly.

"You have a favorite _Flintstones_?"

"Why not? They get outsmarted by a talking dinosaur. Who vacuums and answers the phone. Really pissed me off when they turned him into a yappy dog."

"If I ever start to forget why I love you, I'll remember this conversation," Murray grinned.

"Come on, you have a favorite Bugs Bunny."

"Sure, the nerdy opera one. Next you're going to tell me you have a favorite _Leave it to Beaver_."

"The one where he buys the accordion on trial and drops it down the stairs."

"I love you so much, Lieutenant," he remarked and went back to his book.

"What, suddenly you're too good for cartoons?"

"I never said that." He leaned over and kissed Ted's ear, feeling himself on familiar ground. It was a wonderful place to be.

***

Deb came over after work with a batch of peanut butter cookies for Quinlan, and oatmeal chocolate chip for Murray. They invited her to stay for supper, but Deb was never comfortable around men, and Quinlan being gay couldn't make up for him being naked under his robe. She managed to hug them both and offered good wishes for Ted's recovery, but when Nick and Cody showed up, she had to go. It was just too many men.

"She's a flighty one, isn't she?" Cody remarked as he handed over the day's receipts.

"Yes, she—she has a sad story," Murray said. "According to Jane, she became a lesbian after a—a bad experience with a man."

"Wow, personal choice?" Nick said, sitting down and taking a cookie from the plate on the footlocker. "That's really rare, isn't it?"

"In this group?" Murray laughed. "Not so much. But I get what you mean. We all had same-sex tendencies, at least, but it sounds like she came to it out of necessity. After she swore off men, she had to do something, and there wasn't another choice."

"Must have been a really bad experience," Cody said, always ready to be sympathetic.

"Yeah, from what I understand." He took the cash bag into the office and came back to get a cookie. "How was work?"

"Good. Nick put in that order you made out yesterday and Toby Miller picked up his computer. Oh, a guy named Paul came in to talk to you about his computer. He wants the hard drive wiped."

"Wiped? Really?"

"That's what he said. Totally clean. Like new. And he asked about your confidentiality policy. I thought that was weird."

"It is. Confidentiality? Like will I tell people I wiped his hard drive?"

"Yeah. He asked if you had to look at the files to delete them. When I said I didn't know, that was when he decided not to leave it with us. I gave him your card and he said he'd be in touch."

"Did you get his last name?"

"Yeah, I wrote it down. Colt. Paul Colt. Are you going to do it?"

"Maybe. After I run a bunch of background checks. If he's going to be investigated for something, I'm not going to help him destroy the evidence."

"So you don't do confidentiality?" Quinlan teased.

"I do, unless there's a crime involved. You'll be glad to know that if he is being investigated, I'll take the job and hang onto the machine until the police come for it."

"That won't be good for recommendations, kid."

"Hard old world, Lieutenant." He picked up a peanut butter cookie and shoved it in Quinlan's mouth. "Who wants spaghetti?"

"I do," Nick said. "Oh, and I got a woman who wants us to run down some financials on her husband. Can you do that?"

"Sure, no problem. Nick, you want to help with supper?"

"You bet." He talked more about work, about the woman who was interested in her husband's business, and didn't ask any questions about Quinlan. But that didn't mean there weren't things he wanted to know. As he chopped vegetables for the salad, he tried to be casual. "So, how are you doing, buddy? Holding up all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Murray sounded brave, but he sighed softly, probably without realizing it.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?"

"Yeah," he sighed again. "Ted's cath got kinked and I had to get up once to fix it, but it was okay. We slept late this morning."

"Murray, what's bothering you? If it's a secret that's fine, it's none of my business, but you look tired and I can't help worrying."

"Of course I'm tired. He needs a lot of attention right now, and I have a lot of work to do, so getting up at three in the morning didn't help. But he'll probably sleep better tonight, and we'll get into the rhythm of it."

"Sure you will. But if it would help, one of us could stay over tonight. Or just come by during the day. If Jack helps out at the store, Cody could handle that and I could spend the afternoon with LT while you catch up on your sleep."

"I appreciate the offer, Nick, really, but I don't know if he's up to that. He's feeling really vulnerable and he doesn't want anyone to—I don't know—look down on him. Especially not a tough guy like you."

"I can think of a few times he's looked down on me when I was vulnerable," Nick said dryly. "Should make us even."

"Maybe I'll mention that. But we're really okay for now. He's getting better."

"Yeah, I know he is. But you're the one I'm worried about, babe. I've seen you work yourself half to death without even noticing, and if he can't help you, someone has to."

"I'm okay, Nick." He stirred some oregano into the sauce and began crushing a clove of garlic. "I'd call you if there was any way you could help, though. I would. But really, keeping the store open is more than enough. I appreciate it so much, and I know Ted does, too. Without you guys, we'd never be able to hold onto it."

"That's what family's for, Boz. You've saved our business enough times, we owed you one, at least."

"Thanks. How are those noodles coming?"

Nick dipped some out and pinched one between his fingernails.

"Couple more minutes. What are we drinking?"

"There's beer if you guys want it. Ted's having water so I guess I will, too."

"Solidarity?"

"I think it makes it easier for him if we're on the same page."

"You're a good guy, Boz. Did you know that?"

"Ted's mentioned it a couple times," he shrugged, bending to take the bread out of the oven. "Ow, hot. But I haven't done anything that he wouldn't do for me. Or that you wouldn't, even. He just thinks it's special because he's so scared."

"No, Murray. He thinks it's special because your sex life might be over and you seem to be okay with that."

"It doesn't make me a saint, Nick." He turned off the oven and then just stood there, leaning against the counter, letting the edge bite into the palms of his hands. "I don't even know how I'm going to handle that yet. The idea that it might be over—it just kills me. But I try to imagine myself with someone else while he's alive, knowing he's still in this world, and not being with him, and I can't do that, either. It's just inconceivable, you know? I have nightmares about it."

"Really? Nightmares?"

"Yeah. Ever since we got the diagnosis, off and on. I dream that I'm having sex with a man—always a man, too, never a woman—and when it's over, I remember Ted and realize that I've cheated. Most of the time the dream starts in the middle of the act, or even after, so I have all the guilt without the chance to choose not to do it. I wake up in the dark, scared to death that it was real and I'm going to have to hide it from him forever."

"Jeeze, man, that's awful." Nick put a hand on his shoulder and Murray flinched. "Does LT know about these dreams?"

"No," he cried, straightening up and turning on Nick, quick as a cat. "And don't you say anything. He's got enough on his mind without my stupid guilt anxiety. Shit. I never should have said anything." Somehow he'd forgotten that Nick was the one who would sell him out if he thought it was the right thing to do.

"No, it's okay, buddy. I won't say anything. You need to be able to talk about your own problems and that's what we're here for, remember?"

"Yeah, I know," he said, trying his best to sound sincere. "I'll be okay, though." Murray fixed a plate for Ted and took it to him, desperately hoping he'd told the truth. And, if he hadn't, that no one would have to know.

***

The dream came back that night and Murray woke in a cold sweat, wracked with guilt, his erection painfully hard, sliding tantalizingly against his silk pajamas. For a moment he lay there, breathing slow and deep as he fought for control, and then eased out from under the covers. A few minutes in the bathroom, a little more guilt, and he could go back to sleep without Quinlan knowing.

"Murray?" called a hoarse voice from behind him, and then the bedside lamp came on. "Murray, where are you?"

"I'm right here, Lieutenant," he said shakily, tugging the hem of his shirt down over his crotch. "What is it?"

"Where are you going?"

"No—nowhere. Just the bathroom."

"Come here." Quinlan pushed himself up on his elbow and fixed his eyes on Murray's fidgeting hands.

"What do you need?" he asked nervously, trying to will his erection away.

"Question is, what do you need? Come here, kid."

Murray went to him, overly aware of the bulge in his soft grey pajamas and only attracting more attention as he tried to hide it. He couldn't quite put his finger on why he was so embarrassed; after five years he should be allowed to have a stiffy in front of this man, but it felt like taunting him somehow. Normally, being this anxious would kill it in seconds, but Ted's steady gaze and understanding smile was only making him harder. He could feel his pulse in every part of his body, and when Quinlan took his hand, he sat down bonelessly on the bed. Quinlan coaxed him into backing up by the pillow, away from his sore points, and Murray moved unquestioningly.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?"

"No, it's not—it's okay, Lieutenant. You just got out of the hospital."

But he was already unbuttoning Murray's shirt with one hand, starting at the bottom and working his way up.

"What's the longest we've ever gone without having sex?" he asked, rather casually, considering it was two in the morning.

"I don't know, Ted. About three months."

"Okay, since Mexico. Since we've been living together." He spread Murray's shirt open and stroked his chest lightly.

"A week, maybe. When I was sick last winter. And the winter before."

"Yeah, that's right. You still jerked me off a couple times, though. You're a real thoughtful guy that way."

"I—I always want to—to be there for you," he stammered as Quinlan's hand slid down his belly and cupped him through the damp silk pants.

"I know you do. You are. And maybe I ought to do the same for you."

"No, not if you don't want—" His words were cut off short when Ted eased him free of the elastic waistband and placed a soft kiss on the head of his cock. "Oh, God, Lieutenant, you don't have to—" Then the warm mouth enveloped him and he forgot all of his protests. He gripped Quinlan's head and held on, trying not to thrust. But it had been eight days of stress and fear and guilty sex dreams, and he came in just a couple of minutes, without moving at all. Ted fondled his pulsing testicles, licking and sucking him through his orgasm and staying with him until he grew soft.

Murray collapsed against the wall, Quinlan's head on his thigh, and stroked the back of his neck while he tried to catch his breath.

"You didn't have to do that," he sighed. "But thank you."

"Nothing to thank me for, kid. Come back to bed?"

"In a minute. I should really go to the bathroom while I'm up. You want a fresh glass of water or something?"

"Sure."

Murray shifted him back onto his pillow and got up, fixed his pajamas, and took the glass of flat water from the nightstand. When he came back, he gave Quinlan fresh ice water and the lieutenant drank most of it. Sometimes it was nice not to have to worry about getting up to pee.

"Ted, how does it feel?" he asked slowly as he got back into bed.

"How does what feel?"

"You—did you get aroused at all? I'm sorry if that's not an—appropriate question, but I don't—I want to understand."

"Don't ever worry about appropriate with me, kid." He turned on his back and put his arm around Murray's shoulders. "I just don't know how to answer. I feel like I could do it, if I wasn't in pain and I could get it up. But my balls hurt and I can't feel my dick at all." That wasn't exactly true, though. He could feel the discomfort from the catheter, and Murray's gentle hands when he cleaned it. What he couldn't feel was anything like the stirrings of arousal. It was like being eight again, his first erection years away and unimportant.

"So the feeling like you could comes from—where?"

"I don't know. My heart, maybe? The day the catheter comes out, I expect you to pay me back for all the thoughtful stuff I'm gonna do for you between now and then."

"It's a deal. I love you, Ted."

"I love you, too, baby."


	7. When All You Gotta Keep is Strong

"Doesn't he ever get dressed anymore?"

"Hmm? What was that, Nick?" Murray hardly glanced up from the computer, but he wanted to be distracted. After saying a few noncommittal things about privacy, he had gotten Paul Colt to sign, without reading, a service agreement that specifically said all illegal material would be handed over to the proper authorities, and now he was regretting it. Somehow Colt had been able to hook up with an online network of child pornographers, and now that the police were investigating him for crimes against his own children, they were interested in anything that might turn up on his computer. Murray was contracted with both the King Harbor PD and the State Police, so even if he hadn't taken the job from Colt, he would probably still be stuck with his polluted machine. He wondered vaguely who would pay him, and then Nick was speaking again.

"Quinlan. I haven't seen him dressed since before the surgery."

"Oh, that. Yes, he says clothes are too uncomfortable. He dresses for the doctor, of course, but not at home. It's only been a couple of weeks; he'll probably start getting dressed when the catheter comes out."

"Yeah? When's that gonna be?"

"Next week, I think. Friday, maybe. He's already gotten the staples out and the incision is healing really well, so he'll probably put on pants then. Holy mother of God," he added, when another password protected file gave way and opened for him.

"What is it?"

"No, don't look. Just—just don't. In fact, I need a break." He turned off the monitor and stretched without rising, flexing his spine over the back of his chair.

"Must be hard, looking at that shit all day."

"Not all day," Murray corrected with a shudder. "A couple hours here and there is all I can do. And once I have all the files unlocked, I'm done with it. Someone else can print it and organize it for trial. I need a drink of water. You want a beer or something?"

They went through the living room, where Cody was playing checkers with Ted, and into the kitchen.

"Well, even if he won't put clothes on, he looks good," Nick said, keeping his voice low as he cracked a beer.

"Yeah, he's doing all right. He takes more of the tranquilizers now, mostly to let me sleep, I think, and the depression's a little better. The guys in the group say it'll come back, though. When the progress slows down and it starts to seem like whatever he has is all he's ever going to have. They say it hits after five or six months, when the euphoria over being alive has passed. It's very interesting, and I'm sure I'd be writing a paper or something if I wasn't so damned tired."

Nick sat down beside him at the table and squeezed his skinny shoulder hard.

"You should get more rest, buddy. How can we help?"

"I don't know. He's sleeping about six hours a night, so I'm sleeping five. There's just so much work to do if I want to stay ahead of the medical bills, and he hates for me to be out of his sight. I don't know why, exactly. He was never clingy before, but I guess he still feels vulnerable. I have a hard time getting up at night to go to the bathroom without him waking up and calling for me."

"Can he get out of bed yet?"

"On a good day. Not during the night, though. Not after he's had his medication. And ever since Rob died, he's been in this weird panic. It's partly relief, I think, that all he needed was surgery, and guilt that other people aren't so lucky."

"Does he talk about it coming back?"

"No. That has to be the worst of all the scary thoughts, and if he goes there, he doesn't tell me about it. Some of the guys from group have been over a couple times and they try to separate us, you know, so he can talk about stuff I might not _relate_ to, but he won't go for it. He doesn't want them doing things for him so I can't really leave the room."

"He let you leave the room just now."

"He's with Cody," Murray shrugged. "You guys are different."

"Yeah? So why don't you go catch a nap now and let us entertain him for a while?"

"Thanks, but I really have a lot of work to do. I'm going to be up late tonight as it is."

"Are the bills that bad? I mean, the insurance is picking up most of it, right?"

"Sure. But we have co-pays and meds that aren't covered, and the extra help at the store is taking a bigger bite than we expected. It's all right—I mean, we're okay. I just really wanted to get through this without touching our savings, and so far we're doing it. I just need to work harder."

"Are you sure you're accomplishing anything, though? You look exhausted, and you know you always make mistakes when you get tired."

"Yeah," he agreed, smiling wanly. "But I'm getting paid by the hour."

"No way, buddy. That's it. You're going to bed. We'll keep an eye on LT for you and wake you when it's time to eat."

"You don't have to, Nick, I'm okay. Really. And Ted wants me close by."

"You will be. Murray, you'll be in the next room. Come on, before I start doping your tea."

"You wouldn't."

"I would." Nick stood and pulled him to his feet.

"But you guys worked all day, too. You were up early stocking the shelves; you're tired, aren't you?"

"I got ten hours of sleep last night. Come on, no arguing." Nick dragged him to the bedroom, pausing just long enough to tell Quinlan that Murray was taking a nap, smiling reassuringly at the worry in his eyes.

"Good," Cody said, before Quinlan could speak and make him stay. "We'll play a couple more games of checkers, heat up something for supper, maybe watch some TV. It'll be fine, right, Ted?"

"Yeah," he said, licking his lips nervously. "Go on and get some rest, kid."

"I don't have to—" he managed to get out before Nick yanked on his arm again. "Wake me if you need anything. Anything at all." Then Nick had him in the bedroom and was closing the door behind them.

"Are you going to stay and make sure I sleep?"

"Do I need to?" He was already taking a Xanax from the bottle and breaking it into quarters. Murray swallowed one reluctantly and sat down on the bed, letting Nick take off his shoes and slip the pocket protector out of his shirt. He lay down with a sigh, letting Nick take his glasses and cover him up, hating the way they bullied him and wondering if he made Ted feel that way. But as the blankets settled over him and he let his head sink into the pillow, he decided that hate was really too strong a word.

"Thanks, Nick. Just don't let me sleep too long, okay? I already put potatoes in the oven, so just turn it to three-fifty in half an hour, and put the meatloaf in a half hour after that."

"Sure, buddy. Whatever you say."

Murray closed his eyes, aware even as he fell asleep of his friend watching him. This time he felt less bullied than loved, and hoped he made Quinlan feel that way, too.

***

The day the catheter came out, Murray drove them to Johnston's office himself. It was their third trip to LA since Ted got out of the hospital and their first alone. But Murray wasn't nervous today; there was nothing to be afraid of and no reason to let anyone else in on what might turn out to be a difficult day for Ted. They'd been told over and over that even if he couldn't hold his water today, that didn't mean he never would, but Murray knew how his mind worked. It would be a terrible blow, and not something that anyone else needed to witness.

Steve was there for his last dose of radiation and Murray made small talk with him in the waiting room. He and Rick had broken up while Ted was in the hospital and it was Tippy who sat beside him now. It was difficult for the more traditional Murray to understand, but these men seemed to trade partners fairly often. He'd been surprised that Tippy was looking around so soon after burying his lover of three years, but when he mentioned it to Ted, the lieutenant only shrugged and said that there was no reason for him to be alone if he didn't want to be. Murray decided there were subtleties to being gay that he was missing, and probably always would, just as he had always failed to understand many aspects of being straight.

The only thing Murray really understood, relationship-wise, was how to be with Ted, and that was all he needed. He went into the exam room and held his hand while Johnston pulled the cath, and was silently grateful when Ted demonstrated some bladder control. It wasn't perfect, wasn't anything he would be happy with normally, but it was a start. There were pads he could use instead of diapers, and the nurse gave him a pamphlet explaining how to do exercises that would help strengthen the necessary muscles. And through it all, there were the repeated reassurances that it would get better. It hadn't been long at all; he would improve for months, maybe years, if he worked at it. Quinlan thought that he should have been done with working at not wetting himself by the age of four, but he managed not to say it out loud.

Murray kept up his supportive caregiver routine throughout the visit, asking questions, taking notes, and being confident that all was well until Quinlan was forced to believe it himself. But when they were in the car, Murray turned to him with a surprisingly tender smile.

"I'm so proud of you," he said quietly. "Did you know that?"

"Sure, why not?" Quinlan said carelessly, as if it was a joke.

"No, really. Ted, I'm proud of you. You've been so strong, and it's not over yet, but you aren't, I don't know, falling apart. I would be, you know. I'd be so—just—_done_ with it by now."

"No, you wouldn't. You're stronger than me, kid. It's you that got us this far. Now get us home, why don't you, before I start bawling." He was smiling, still making it a joke, but it wasn't and they both knew it.

***

The first thing Quinlan did when they got home was take a shower. He wanted to be alone, and Murray wondered if he felt really different now; if even showering was so new that he needed to experience it by himself to fully appreciate it. He wanted to ask, but it seemed like it might be one of those things that Quinlan would tell him about if he wanted to. There weren't many secrets between them, but maybe a man who'd had his prostate fingered by ten strangers over the last two months needed to hold onto a couple.

What Murray didn't know, but would have understood if told, was that his lover was testing himself. He needed to know if he could control his bladder while standing and stretching for fifteen minutes, and he didn't want witnesses if it turned out he couldn't. It went all right, though, and he felt a well-deserved sense of pride as he dried himself after. He knew better than to get his hopes up, though. The doctor, the guys in the group, and all of the books he'd read agreed that there would be slips. Coughing, laughing, bending, and, when he was allowed, lifting, would all be dangerous for quite a while. Maybe forever.

Murray put his work aside early that night, but Quinlan was already in bed and apparently asleep when he got there. He put on his pajamas in the dark and slid under the light blankets with a barely muffled sigh. After a long moment, he laid his hand on Quinlan's back, not trying to wake him, but not trying not to, either. He was sure the other man was still awake, but he didn't want to force the issue. Murray had been forcing issues for the last two months and he was tired. Eventually he went to sleep, still feeling Quinlan breathing under his hand.

***

The next day they went to work together for the first time since the surgery. Quinlan returned to the role he'd adopted after his biopsy, sitting behind the counter and working the register while Murray stocked shelves and helped customers. Jack was gone, back to school, but he had served his purpose and Murray didn't think they needed him anymore.

By lunchtime, Quinlan was tired enough to eat a sandwich and go lie down on the cot in the stockroom while Nick took his place behind the counter. Murray was worried, as anyone would be in his place, and Nick tried to cheer him up.

"He looks good," he said, leaning on the counter while Murray arranged the new Swiss Army knives and penlights in the display case underneath.

"Yeah, he's okay. I mean, he's really tired still, but he's getting better. Except—" Murray stopped, nearly biting his tongue to keep the words back.

"Except what, Boz? Is something wrong?"

"I don't know. For the last couple weeks he's been making all kinds of promises, and I knew they were mostly jokes, but last night…" He trailed off, knowing he shouldn't get into this, and hating that he was going to anyway. He sat back on his heels and let Nick talk him into it.

"Last night, what?"

"He went to bed first and when I got there, he pretended to be asleep. I guess it was because of, you know, some kind of—performance anxiety, or something, but I wasn't expecting—I don't know what I was expecting. I just wanted to, you know, share _something_ with him. The doctor said it was best to start as soon as possible, and Ted really seemed to be looking forward to it, so now I don't know what to think."

"What were you supposed to start? I don't quite know how this part works."

"Just—trying to get an erection. Research has proven quite conclusively that the sooner he starts trying, the more likely he is to regain the ability. It's a matter of practice. But if he's going to ignore me, I don't know what to do."

"Maybe he wants to practice by himself, so you won't see if he fails."

"I hope that's not it. I mean, he's going to fail at first. It's a long process. But it's easier for most people if they have—help. It's always better when someone else is touching you, right?"

"Yeah, I always thought so," Nick laughed. Then he turned serious again. "You're just going to have to talk to him. I know it's hard; you always have to start the conversations and force the discussions, but it's better than not having the discussion at all, right?"

"Right. I just don't want to be the nag who harasses him about everything. Especially sex. Nagging isn't exactly romantic, and whatever happens is going to benefit me more, you know?"

"Yeah, I can see that. So there hasn't been any sex since the surgery?"

"Well, not much. He's done the best he could for me, but it's hard for us both, not having the reciprocity. I was hoping he'd be more eager to start changing that."

"He's probably still pretty scared. If you want my advice," he began, then paused until Murray nodded, "you just have to talk to him. Make sure he knows that whatever happens is okay."

"I know. But I thought he already knew that. He's only touched me a couple of times, but it should be enough for him to know what kind of effect he has on me."

"Still easy, are you?" Nick teased. Murray blushed, laughing a little at himself.

"I love him, that's all. Love just turns me on."

"Yeah, you've always been cute that way. But it'll be okay. He loves you, too, and you'll get it back. He'll come around."

"I know. Thanks, Nick." He started to say something else and then the bell over the door jingled. Murray got up and brushed the dust from his knees as he greeted the customer.

***

Quinlan went to bed early again, slipping away without so much as a goodnight while Murray worked in the office. He'd decided to skip the eight o'clock movie, since it was _Rio Bravo_ again and he just had too much work backed up. It seemed like everyone in King Harbor had a home computer now, and the ways they found to screw them up were downright baffling. He suspected that one day he would be able to make a living just reinstalling operating systems and recovering word processing documents.

At nine-thirty he went to the kitchen for a glass of water and noticed that Ted was gone. The TV was still on, making him think it was a deliberate deception, and Murray decided at once to put his work aside and settle this thing. He turned off the lights and the TV, checked the door locks, and went to the bathroom to brush his teeth, thinking all the while about what he would say. And there was no question he would say something. Even if Quinlan was really asleep, he wouldn't be put off.

The bedroom was dark and silent as he undressed and got into bed without putting on his pajamas. Quinlan was curled on his side, his back to Murray, breathing soft and slow. But Murray didn't buy it any more than he did last night. He laid his hand on Ted's back and knew from the studied lack of reaction that he was faking. If he was really asleep he'd have stirred a little, maybe turned toward Murray and snuggled into his warmth.

"Lieutenant, I know you're awake," he said softly. "Please don't hide from me."

Quinlan sighed, his ribs lifting under Murray's steady hand, but he didn't speak.

"Not now, Ted. Not after everything we've already gone through. This is supposed to be the easy part."

"I know," Quinlan whispered. "Everything's supposed to be all right now, but it's not. I'm still old and impotent. The only thing that's different is now I'm incontinent, too."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

"I mean, _so_. As in _so the hell what_? Ted, we've been together for five years now. You know I love you, you know I'm not going to make demands, and you also know I'm not going to just give up. We've gotten this far; the cancer's gone, you're getting your strength back, there's no reason to think things won't keep getting better."

"Things are supposed to be better _now_," he whined, possibly the first time in this entire ordeal that he could honestly be said to do so. "I need to be well _now_."

Murray eased his arm around Ted's body and rolled him onto his back. The heavier man let him, closing his eyes in shame. He was prepared for a lecture, for rational logic, and possibly name calling. _Idiot, fool, whiner_ maybe even _asshole_ wouldn't be totally out of line here. But he wasn't prepared for what he got, which was a tender and slightly passionate kiss. Murray cradled his cheek in one hand, holding him still as the kiss deepened, and he arched up into it against his will. When the gentle hand slid over his throat and across his chest to pinch his nipple, Quinlan moaned as he hadn't done in weeks, even as he tensed for the inevitable next move. But that move didn't come. Murray just went on kissing and petting him, sliding one hand beneath his neck to hold him in that way that always made him feel so safe.

"Feeling better yet?" Murray whispered against his throat.

"A little. But, Murray, what are we doing here?"

"Let's not worry about that just now. Let's just do this for a while, and when you want to do something else, you let me know."

"Will—would you be able to touch me? You wouldn't be turned off?"

"No, Lieutenant, I'm very much turned on." His mouth traveled down Ted's chest, leaving a trail of wet, sloppy kisses and finally biting his nipple, sucking until his lover moaned for him again. "These things are nice, aren't they? Makes you feel good?"

"Yeah, it feels good," he sighed. "You always make me feel good. But what do I do for you?"

"Anything you want, Lieutenant." He worked his way lower, kissing Ted's belly, flatter now but still muscular, and flicked his tongue teasingly into his navel.

"Murray, stop," Quinlan said, grabbing his arm in one hand and a fistful of hair in the other.

"Why?" he asked, pulling away just a little because the sharp tugging of his hair pleased him unreasonably.

"Just—just wait." Strong arms pushed the skinny man away and Murray sat up, facing him and looking confused.

"Ted…"

"It's okay, just a second." He slipped his shorts off and dropped them on the floor, trying to swallow his fears. He was pretty sure he wouldn't leak, not lying still, not if he didn't laugh or panic, but he couldn't be certain and that lack of certainty made his heart race. But he needed this, whatever happened.

Murray curled up beside him and resumed kissing his chest, stroking his ribs with one hand and his thigh with the other. After a moment, Ted's hand moved to Murray's knee and was still, warm and strong.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked hoarsely as Murray's long fingers tickled his sac.

"Am I sure? Oh, Ted, I love you."

"I know, but that doesn't mean you have to—to…"

"But I want to." He took Ted's hand in his, guiding it off his knee and up his thigh, wrapping the thick, calloused fingers around his own throbbing cock. "See what you do to me, Lieutenant? How much I love you?" Before he could answer, Murray bent and took his soft prick in his mouth. The taste was the same, musky and sweet and uniquely Ted, and it sent another rush of blood to Murray's groin. He sucked gently, probing the most sensitive spots with his tongue, his heart racing to the sound of his lover's moans. Ted's hand tightened, sliding roughly over Murray's cock, dragging small, needy sounds from him.

Murray couldn't help thrusting into that tight grip, and when Ted's other hand dug into his hair, holding his head in that sure, familiar way, his needy groans turned into helpless mewling. This was the first mutual act of love they had shared in a month, and just when Murray thought it couldn't get any better, he felt a small twitch from the cock in his mouth. He sucked harder, rolling Ted's sac between nimble fingers, and was rewarded by a slight but noticeable swelling against his tongue. It was more than either of them had been taught to expect, and though Murray couldn't coax anything like an erection from him, he could tell that it was still good. His own orgasm was nothing but a pleasant distraction, and he kept up the sweet suction and swirling tongue until Quinlan told him to stop.

"I thought we were supposed to keep it up until you came," he said, snuggling under Ted's arm and pulling up the blankets.

"It's too early, kid. In a month or so, it'll pay to be more determined. But this was nice. Thank you, Murray."

"Don't thank me. I'm the one who came. Just—isn't it frustrating?"

"Maybe a little. Not like before, though. Not like it would be for you if I'd stopped in the middle."

"Oh. Well, you know I'm here for you whenever you want to try again."

"I know, baby. Here, let me get up a minute."

Murray pulled away, vaguely puzzled, and watched him slide out of bed and put on his shorts. He wasn't gone long, probably just to the kitchen for a drink, but Murray was almost asleep when he returned. Quinlan got back into bed and held him until he slept.


	8. Move Along

Over the next month, they kept trying. Three or four times a week, they would go to bed early and fool around for a while, then Murray would try to suck Quinlan off. Sometimes he managed a slight erection, and twice he achieved something like an orgasm without getting hard. It was frustrating, not getting what he wanted, or even knowing for sure if he would or not when they started, but Murray was so calm and reassuring, so cheerfully willing to do anything, that Ted couldn't bring himself to stop trying. A lot of nights he went to sleep feeling a little resentful of his lover's healthy orgasms, but he couldn't refuse the kid his pleasure when he was trying so hard to share.

It was late October, just before Halloween, when they reached the next level. Murray had spent a good half hour teasing and soothing him in turns, and Ted had a fairly respectable erection. Not enough for penetration, but harder than he'd been since the surgery, and Murray was determined to make him come. He used all his tricks, all the things he knew Ted used to like, and all the new things that seemed to work better. That was taking a lot of getting used to, the ways Ted's body and his responses had changed, but they were learning together what he needed. And tonight they were rewarded.

Murray heard Ted's breath quicken, felt his hands tighten on his head, and hoped to God it was going to happen. He kept his own grip easy so Quinlan could move, thrusting hard as he swallowed and worked his tongue. He knew when Ted came by his short gasping cries and the vicious way he pulled Murray's hair. Murray kept sucking and swallowing, nursing him through it as he always did, despite the lack of semen and the faint taste of blood. He didn't stop until Ted's body went limp and the cock in his mouth began to soften.

He sat up, wiping his lips with his fingertips as he always did, knowing Ted thought it was cute, and stretched out beside his lover. He wanted badly to ask if it was okay, if Ted had really enjoyed it, but he didn't normally do that, and the books warned against making too big a deal out of things and adding to the pressure. So he lay still, stroking Ted's chest and waiting for a sign.

"That—that was pretty good," Quinlan said after a minute.

"As good as before?"

"I'm not sure," he laughed. "I want to say no, 'cause I didn't get to shoot, but it's been so long, it might be the best ever."

"That sounds pretty good."

"Yeah. Thanks, baby. For being so patient and everything."

"It's not completely altruistic, Lieutenant. I want you back in the game for my own reasons, you know."

"I know. And I want—Murray…" He trailed off, running his hand absently over Murray's back.

"I'm here. What is it? What do you want?"

"If—if I can't get hard enough to top again, I want you to. I want us to—to stay connected."

"But you don't—you won't like it. It never was your favorite anyway, and without your prostate…"

"Doesn't matter. You know, the first time I fucked you, I didn't expect you to like it."

"No?"

"No. I knew it was your first time and we didn't exactly discuss it; I didn't think you even knew what was gonna happen. I figured you'd make me stop halfway through and we'd do something else."

"Then why did you try in the first place?"

"We had to start somewhere. If nothing else, you'd have some idea what to expect the next time."

"But it didn't matter. I loved it, and I love you. But that doesn't mean you have to bend over for me."

"No, but like I said, I want us to stay connected. I miss you, kid."

"Yeah, I miss you, too. But don't give up yet, okay? Because I think, if you were this hard again, we could put a cock ring on you and you could do whatever you wanted."

"And where are we gonna get one of those?"

"Any sex shop. LA's full of them, right?"

"Yeah, I've even been in a few. But I'm too old for that now. They'd laugh us out the door."

"Do you really care? So some strangers in the city laugh. Then we come home and you fuck me 'til I cry. Isn't it worth it?"

"When you put it that way, probably. You done your homework, then? You know what we need?"

"I have an idea. The fastener is the important part. We have to be able to get it off while you're still hard, or you could end up in the hospital having your penis drained with a needle."

"Right, so not the solid kind. What are we talking about, then?"

"Maybe leather with buckles or snaps. Or Velcro, even. We'd have to look and see what they have."

"Yeah, all right. Next time we're in town, we can go shopping if you want."

But Murray could tell by his tone that he wanted it, too. It was really starting to feel like things were going to be okay.

***

Their last trip to the doctor was in the third week of November, just before Thanksgiving. Johnston examined his healed incision and told them to come back in six months for another check-up, or sooner if they had any concerns. Quinlan mentioned the continued blood in his urine and ejaculate, which was almost nothing but, and the doctor assured him again that it was normal and would go away in time. Nothing he hadn't heard already, and nothing he wanted to hear now.

"Honestly, Ted, the fact that you're able to achieve erections and orgasms at all is impressive. It's very unusual this early into recovery. You should be very pleased with yourself."

"I guess," he shrugged, embarrassed. "It's hard to be happy about settling."

"Well, with as much progress as you've made so far, I don't think you need to worry about that."

The waiting room had been empty when they came in, but when they left, Paul and Blond Rick there, were whispering together, holding hands. Murray went to say hello and saw that Paul was crying.

"Hey, guys. What—what's going on? Is everything all right?"

Paul glanced at him, then buried his face against Rick's shoulder. It was Rick who answered.

"Bad news, Murray. Steve's radiation didn't take. They found tumors in his lungs last week. Tippy left him, just dropped him over the weekend. Said he couldn't go through it again."

"Oh, that's terrible. But Tippy's so young, he can't be expected to act like an adult all the time." It was Murray's nature to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, even though he privately thought that leaving a man in Steve's condition was reprehensible.

"But Steve loved him so much," Paul sobbed. "He really needed somebody to get him through it, and when Tippy left, he—he just…"

"He what?" Murray's gaze shifted from one to the other until Rick answered.

"He hung himself last night. He's dead."

Murray wavered, reaching for a chair that wasn't there. Quinlan stepped up and caught him before he fell, giving Rick a dirty look as he did.

"Nice way to break it to him," he said harshly. "Did you rehearse that, or what?"

"Don't get mad at him," Paul snapped. "It's hard on everyone."

"Yeah, sure. Come on, kid. Let's just go home." He guided Murray by the arm, leading him out of the building and over to the car. Murray had driven them there, but Quinlan put him in the passenger seat without him noticing. He went around and got in on the other side, then turned to his lover and found him crying.

"Hey, none of that," he said softly, squeezing Murray's wrist.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's just—he was my friend. If he was feeling that bad, he could have called me. I—I would have done something."

"What would you have done?" Quinlan asked, sliding across the bench seat to hold him.

"I don't know. We—we could have talked about it. It was probably an impulsive act, because he happened to be alone. Maybe I could have talked him out of it."

"Yeah, maybe. But think about it. He was a middle aged, impotent gay man with metastasized cancer. Even if you could have talked him out of it last night, he probably would have done it later. Unless you were prepared to take him in and look after him forever. Look at how fast he picked up Tippy after Rick dumped him. A guy like that couldn't live two days without a boyfriend holding his hand. Were you gonna do that?"

"No, but—but he could have let us try."

"So it's about you?"

"No, but, Ted—how could he do it? How—how could he just tie a rope around his neck and—and choke himself to death? How unhappy does a person have to be to do that?"

"I think you know the answer. Murray, I'm sorry. I know you liked the guy, but there's nothing you can do now. He didn't give you a chance to help him and that's not your fault."

Murray rubbed his eyes, wiping the tears from his cheeks with the heels of his hands, and sighed to himself.

"You wouldn't ever do that, would you?"

"What, kill myself? Didn't we already talk about this?"

"I need to hear it again," he whispered, turning his soft, pleading eyes on Ted.

"You know I wouldn't. I only said I might if I was in too much pain, but it didn't turn out that way. I'm not even impotent, most of the time, so I don't have any reason to."

"But if you did, you—you promised you'd talk to me about it first. Remember?"

"I remember. I wouldn't do that to you, baby, and you know it. Don't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. It's just—it's all been so scary, Lieutenant. It makes me a little irrational."

"Sure. So what do you say we go have some lunch and maybe stop by _Spartacus_ before we go home?"

"_Spartacus_? You really have been around," Murray laughed, wiping his eyes one last time.

"And you haven't? I noticed you recognized the name pretty fast."

"So where do you want to go for lunch?" he asked in lieu of answering.

"Anywhere but _Denny's_," Ted grinned, giving him another hug. And that was the end of their association with the support group.

***

It was nearly three when Murray sat down to work in his office, leaving the door open in case Ted called for him. Quinlan wasn't exactly weak this long after the surgery, but he was tired from the long car trip and the walking around they'd done in the city. He was taking a nap now and he might want something without getting up, so Murray listened with one ear as he typed, reassured by the silence from the other room. He wasn't worried. In fact, he was smiling a little, thinking about the stores they'd visited and the things that Ted was resting up for. Hopefully, he would get enough sleep to be able to stay awake and play tonight.

His cheerful meditations were interrupted by a knock at the door. Murray wasn't expecting anyone; he'd asked the guys to close the store and keep the receipts overnight, so they'd have plenty of privacy. It was probably neighbors or Girl Scouts or something. He hurried to answer it, planning to get rid of the visitor as quickly as possible, before Ted was disturbed. But the woman on the front porch was a stranger, and far too old to be a Girl Scout. Murray couldn't decide if she was a beaten down sixty or a well preserved eighty, and didn't know anyone who could fit either bill. Except maybe Mama Jo, and this certainly wasn't her.

"Can I help you?" he asked, opening the door just far enough for courtesy.

"I hope so. I'm looking for Ted Quinlan. I got this address from the phone book. Does he still live here?"

"Um—yes. He's sleeping right now. He hasn't been well and I—I'd hate to wake him."

"I know. I—can I come in? I'd really like to see him."

"Well, yes, of course," he stammered. "But—may I ask, uh, who are you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Where're my manners? I'm his wife, Lorna."

Murray somehow managed to wince and widen his eyes in shock at the same time, and the tired, bleached blond woman laughed.

"I'm sorry," she said again. "I guess I thought it would be obvious. You must be Mr. Bozinsky."

"Dr. Bozinsky, but yes," he said, stepping back to let her in. It was gnawing in his throat to mention that she wasn't Ted's wife anymore, but he kept swallowing until the need to correct her dulled a little. "Did—is he—expecting you?"

"No, 'course not. I didn't even know he was sick until last night. I was talkin' to Theo and he happened to mention that his daddy was dyin', so I thought I'd better come see for myself."

"Oh. Well, why don't you come into the kitchen and sit down? Would you like some tea or coffee?"

"Coffee'd be good, thank you." She sank into a chair at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette. Murray got an ashtray from the cupboard over the sink before pouring her coffee.

"It was nice of you to be so worried, but I'm afraid you made the trip for nothing. Ted's not dying."

"He isn't? Theo said he had some terrible cancer and was gonna lose his man parts or somethin'."

Murray took a deep breath and counted to ten, distracting his mind with thoughts on the genuineness of her Texas drawl. Quinlan had said he went to high school with her, but he was from Alabama originally. Maybe she was born in Texas. Or maybe she was just a slattern with lazy speaking habits. When he got to ten, he exhaled and said, "No, he—he had prostate cancer, but he's getting better now. He had a radical prostatectomy and the cancer hadn't spread, so he's going to be fine."

"Huh. Leave it to Theo to get his facts mixed up," she sighed, shaking her head when he offered her sugar for her coffee.

"Well, he didn't know. I called to tell him about the diagnosis and he told me not to bother him again; he didn't want to know. I'm sorry you didn't call ahead—he could have explained it over the phone."

"Yeah, I reckon, but I had business in LA anyway. My sister passed the other day and I needed to help settle her affairs. I figured I'd stop in and wrap things up with Ted while I was at it. But he's okay?"

"Yes, he is," Murray said stiffly. He'd always been prepared to dislike this woman, but nothing could have truly prepared him for the full extent of the experience. "He still needs a lot of rest, but that's natural after major surgery."

"It's never a good sign with Teddy when he's sleepin' durin' the day."

"Well, like I said, major surgery. He's back working full time, except today, because he had an appointment. Otherwise, he's fine."

"Still, I'd like to see him. You mind if I wait a while?"

"No, go right ahead." He got himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter instead of sitting down. "So, how long has it been since you last saw each other?"

"Shit, I don't know. Close on to fifteen years, I reckon."

"Mmm. And you don't talk at all?"

"Not for a while. He got awful spiteful toward the end. Considerin' how long we been married, I'da thought he could be civil, but he always had a nasty temper. In fact, I'm a little surprised, lookin' at you, Doctor."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know exactly. Guess I wouldn'ta thought a timid little thing like you could take it."

"We get along fine," he said, his face carefully expressionless.

"Well, I been married to him a long time and I know all about his temper," she said placidly. "You must not 'a knowed him long."

"You know, it's funny how you keep saying you're married," he said, his calm slipping just a little, "when we both know you've been divorced for over fifteen years. You didn't want to be married to him when you actually were, so what's the big attraction now?"

"Oh no, don't you go puttin' all that on me. It ain't my fault he decided he was gay. Was I supposed to stay married to a man who was out chasin' the boys instead'a comin' home nights?"

"From what I heard, you were the one chasing the boys. Did you really know he was gay back then? Because Theo didn't seem to until it hit the papers."

"A wife knows these things without bein' told. And you know how it is. After a couple's been together for two decades, raised a child and weathered the bad times, not even divorce can break the emotional bond. It's like you're always married. You know, 'til death do you part."

"So you never married again?" he asked, gripping his coffee cup until his white knuckles ached.

"I remarried once, but it didn't last. I guess there was never really room in my heart for another man."

"Plenty of room in your bed, though, wasn't there?" Quinlan asked, stepping into the kitchen. Lorna flushed and Murray nearly dropped his mug. "What are you doing here, anyway? Did you really come all this way to fill the kid's head with that shit?"

"What? No, Teddy. I only just heard you was sick and I came to see you. Theo said you was dyin'."

"Well, I'm not. And when we talked four years ago, you weren't exactly sympathetic. I seem to remember you calling me a degenerate freak and saying you wished we'd never even met. Sounded to me like the whole gay thing was a bit of a surprise."

"The surprise was you getting together with a skinny little nothing like him," she said dismissively. "You always was a stylish man, Teddy. I was the prettiest girl you ever dated, and you always dated pretty girls. You said so time and again."

"Pretty is as pretty does, Lorna."

"Whatever. It's just a shame to see you settlin' in your old age. I'da thought if you had to have a boy, you could at least pick up a handsome one off the beach. Why else would you stay in California?"

"Okay, that's enough. You got one minute to tell me what you want and then you're outa here. I don't need to listen to this shit and Murray sure as hell doesn't deserve it."

"I told you, Teddy. Theo said you was dyin' and I wanted to say goodbye. We been married a long time, baby. I wasn't gonna let you die alone."

"Lorna, we've been divorced for almost as long as we were married, and I'm not alone. I was a lot lonelier when we actually were married and I was at home raising our son while you whored around the bars."

"Teddy, no," she said, fluttering her eyelashes coquettishly. Murray felt ill and turned to pour his coffee down the sink. "You know you're the only man I ever loved, and I know you loved me."

"I don't know about love, but I know you came home smelling like other men six nights out of seven. Or should I say mornings? Now did you really come all the way from Houston for this?"

"Tell him about your sister," Murray said quietly.

"Oh, yes, Anna Marie passed on Wednesday."

"That's too bad. She was a decent lady. So you came to scoop up her money, and thought you'd stop by to see if you could con some out of me on my deathbed while you were in town. That about right?"

"Teddy, no," she said again, reaching for his hand. Quinlan moved to the sink and put his arm around Murray's waist.

"Stop calling me that, Lorna. I don't know exactly what kind of plan you had worked out here, if Theo's part of it or what, and I don't care. I got nothing to give you or say to you in any case."

"I should have known," she snapped, all coquetry gone. "Theo told me you turned into a real _shit_ after you hooked up with this big-shot cocksucker. He might be rich and famous, but that don't make you nothin', Teddy, and you better remember it. You ain't _nothin'_."

"That's not true," he said calmly. "I'm happy. You walking out was the second best thing that ever happened to me, and I ought to thank you for that. I'd have stayed in the closet forever if it would have kept you at home or made my son happy. But you left, and he blamed me, and there was nothing I could do."

"And you're happy now? You got your middle-aged geek-boy and you don't need your family no more?"

"Lorna, Murray _is_ my family, and I don't owe you shit. I never did. The judge wouldn't even grant you alimony, that's how fucked up you were. Now I'm done with this. Get out of my house and don't come back, understand?"

"Teddy, I'm your wife," she said plaintively.

"No, you're not. You never were a wife in anything more than name, and that ended when you left me back in seventy-three. There's nothing here for you, Lorna. Nothing."

"Really?" she shot back, leaping up as quickly as her arthritic joints would allow and grabbing his left hand from Murray's hip. "Then why are you still wearing your wedding ring?"

"What, this? You think this ring has anything to do with you?"

"That's the ring I put on your finger the day we got married. I'd know it anywhere."

"This is the ring I bought in Mexico four years ago to remind me that someone loved me. It matches the one I bought Murray the year before."

"It is not. Teddy…"

"I pawned my wedding ring two days after you left. Used the money to put an eight track deck in my car."

"And now you're pretending to be married to this guy?"

"I ain't pretending anything. We just make sure everyone knows we aren't available."

"Right, because there's a huge demand for skinny geeks and washed up, impotent old men."

"Doesn't matter if there is or not," he shrugged, but Murray could tell that arrow had hit the mark.

"Lorna, I believe Ted told you to go. Come on, I'll walk you out."

"No, wait," she cried, retreating to her chair and clinging to the back of it as if he had threatened to forcibly remove her.

"Lorna, I still don't understand what you want from me," Ted sighed. "So far as I can tell, you're just wasting your breath and cutting into my nap time. Us washed up old men need our sleep, you know."

"I'm sorry I said that, Teddy. Look, the truth is, I'm in trouble. Big trouble. There's people at home who want to hurt me and—and I need help. I thought I'd get enough cash from Anna Marie's will, but the ungrateful bitch didn't leave me nothin'. Gave all her money to her damn kids. I can't go home empty-handed. They'll kill me."

"That's what I figured. So who are you in trouble with? Thirty years ago, I'd've said a pimp, but you're a little too far past your prime for that, aren't you? So what is it, your bookie? You been playing the ponies again?"

"Dogs," she whispered. "The—the greyhounds."

"Dogs. Low class all the way."

"People get killed by bookies over dog races?" Murray asked, puzzled.

"Baby, people get killed by bookies over Little League games. If you can bet on it, you can get into trouble over it. So how much do you owe, Lorna?"

"Five grand. Please, Ted, they'll kill me."

"Nobody's gonna kill you over a lousy five grand. At least not right off. They'll break your legs, maybe. Probably trash your house, bust up all your kitty cats, but they won't kill you. Dead people ain't worth much."

"I—I don't even have the cats anymore. I've sold everything that was worth a nickel, just tryin' to stay afloat. Please, Teddy, don't let them hurt me. You—you wouldn't want to see your only son's mother murdered by a sleazy bookie."

"Lorna, darlin', there's so many things wrong with that, I don't even know where to start. Let's just leave it at this—don't ever call me Teddy again."

"Does—does that mean you won't help me?" Her lips trembled and it might have been sincere. She had every reason to be scared. "You've got yourself a new life with this scrawny little geek and you don't care about your wife and child anymore? Well he's a fool. You're probably just with him for the mo—" She stopped short and Quinlan laughed.

"Just figure it out, did you? I don't have any money. Murray's the breadwinner in this family. Even the store's in his name, and the last thing I'm gonna do is tell him he has to give five large to my lying, cheating bitch of an _ex_-wife. Fact is, I'm not sure I'd let him if he wanted to. And enlisting Theo, a guy who says he wishes he was an orphan, isn't going to help your case."

"Is that why you called him?" Murray asked suddenly. "Did you ask him for the money first?"

"Of course I did," she said with a sneer of distaste. "He told me to get it from Ted, since he'd be dead soon anyway. Save the trouble of fightin' you over the estate."

"Fighting who over what?" Quinlan asked, his eyes moving rapidly from one to the other.

"The last time I talked to him," Murray sighed, "he told me that when you died, he would fight me for whatever you had. I explained about the joint property and everything, but that's not the point. At least not for him. He just wants to hurt us as much as he can, and me after you're gone."

"Yeah, that's something he learned from his mother. So is that it, Lorna? You hate me, you hate Murray, and you need money. Did I leave anything out?"

"I don't hate you, Ted. You're my—you were the love of my life. The husband of my youth. And I'm sure that Murray's a—a very nice man," she added, choking on it just a little.

"For a skinny, cocksucking, geek-boy," Murray whispered and Ted laughed, squeezing his hand.

"Yes, well, I'm sorry I said those things. It was such a shock, you understand, finding out that my own husband is shacked up with a man."

"Really? I thought you knew he was gay all along," Murray said earnestly.

"I don't care what you knew or when you knew it, so long as you stop talking like we're still married," Ted added. "That's no way to get a favor from either of us."

Feeling ganged up on, lost and helpless, she put her head down on the table and sobbed. Ted turned to Murray and asked if he'd like some more coffee.

***

"I can't believe you gave her the money," Quinlan said for the fifth time. Murray was washing the supper dishes while he sat at the table and watched, nursing a beer.

"I guess I'm a soft touch."

"You're soft in the head."

"I just couldn't let her get her legs broken over greyhound racing. It's absurd. An old woman asks for help, how can I say no?"

"Old? She's the same age as me."

"Maybe technically, but she's old and worn out, and you're still vital and virile. It's like she's twenty years older. Besides, she said she'd never bother us again, and I think five thousand dollars and a plane ticket is a fair price for that kind of peace of mind."

"You should have negotiated and got her to include Theo."

"Theo doesn't bother us. _I_ have to call _him_ if I want to get shit on. You know, I wouldn't have given it to her if you'd told me not to. You said it was up to me and I really thought it was right thing to do."

"You been working your ass off to make as much money as possible and you just handed my ex-wife a month's wages. I'm sorry if that doesn't make sense."

"Like I said, I don't want her to get hurt. I've been worried about money, but we can afford it, and it's a tax write-off anyway."

"Yeah, whatever. I just hope you don't need it yourself, because she ain't worth it."

"We'll be okay, Lieutenant. We have savings and investments and—and friends. We have all kinds of cushions against bad times, and Lorna doesn't have anything. Even her son wouldn't help her. Doesn't that make you sad?"

"Starving babies make me sad. Old dogs in the city pound make me sad. Stupid people who shit their own beds can sleep in it for all I care."

"Well, I guess we're just different," Murray shrugged. He turned off the water and dried his hands.

"You and me are different in a lot of ways, kid. You want to watch _Magnum Force_, or just go to bed?"

"I think I want to go to bed. Are you tired? I know she woke you up too early."

"No, I'm fine. Besides, you're gonna do all the work, right?"

"Yes sir, Lieutenant."

***

"Baby, I think you're pushing your luck with this thing," Quinlan said, hefting the thick rubber dildo. Murray was lying on his stomach, his cheek resting on his folded arms, smiling that small, knowing smile.

"You'll just have to trust me. You've used one before, right?"

"A time or two. But nothing quite this big, and you've never used one at all. I'm telling you, kid—"

"We went over this already. It's all right, Ted. If I can take _you_, I can take _that_."

"It's your ass," he shrugged and reached for the lube. But he started with his fingers, making Murray sigh and moan with pleasure before introducing the firm, cold rubber. Murray shivered, clenching involuntarily against the invading object. Quinlan wanted to stop, but he had to admit it was arousing, watching his lover's tight passage stretch around a cock even bigger than his. He laid his other hand on Murray's back, rubbing small circles and feeling him relax. The head of the dildo slipped past the hard ring of muscle and Murray gasped.

"Still all right?" he whispered.

"Yeah. Don't stop, it's okay." Not good, not fun, but tolerable. "Come closer, Lieutenant." He held out his hand and Ted moved into it, groaning softly as Murray's fist closed over his limp prick. Murray tugged gently, felt the drag of dry, wrinkled skin, and paused to slick his palm with lube. With the next stroke, his hand slid easily and he felt the soft flesh begin to stiffen. The ease of Ted's response was practically a miracle, so far above and beyond what they'd been led to expect, and Murray rocked his hips in eager anticipation. The thick rubber slid deeper, stretching and burning, and he was impatient to take it all.

"Easy, baby," Ted sighed. "We got time." He was getting harder, though, and his desire, which had only been growing since he first laid eyes on this gentle little nerd almost seven years ago, was reaching crisis proportions.

Murray stroked him until he plateaued at a level just shy of hard enough, and then turned and took him in his mouth. That never failed. He sucked and licked as Ted worked the dildo into him, probing for his gland while trying not to rush. Murray couldn't resist pushing back against it, groaning with mixed pleasure and pain as it finally touched his prostate.

"Oh, good," he breathed, raising his head just enough to speak. "Ted—so good. Give me the strap."

"You ready?"

"I will be. Just keep going." He took the narrow leather strap and slipped it carefully behind Ted's sac and around the base of his cock, fastening the Velcro snugly while still sucking him for maximum effect. "That feel okay, Lieutenant?"

"Feels weird. But not bad." He had to change that to really good when Murray swallowed him down again, his slender throat vibrating with eager moans. Quinlan kept steady pressure on the dildo, letting Murray control the depth and work it against his gland to his own satisfaction. He started a gentle rocking rhythm, letting it slide easily, stretching himself wide under his lover's jealous gaze.

"Are we ready yet?" Quinlan asked breathlessly.

"Just a little more. It's not all the way in yet, is it?"

"Not quite, but why—"

"Just a little more," he repeated. "Remember, I read the books."

"Yeah, but the base of this thing is twice as big as my dick. You're makin' me feel a little unnecessary."

"Trust me, Lieutenant. It could be the size of a Titan II and it wouldn't make me come. Only you can do that." Still, the sounds he made were unmistakably ones of pleasure as he worked it deeper, stretching himself to a seemingly impossible degree. And it was nice, in a way. The steady nudge against his gland set every nerve on fire, and he thought if he kept it up long enough he might come after all. But it wasn't the same as Ted's silky skin and flexible hardness. It wasn't alive, and Murray could never be truly satisfied without some part of his lover's body inside him. A single finger was, in its way, better than this mammoth fake penis. But it was serving an important purpose.

When it was most of the way in, Quinlan pulled it back, added a little more lube, and shoved the last couple inches home with a marked lack of patience. Murray took it with a soft grunt, closing his eyes against the sudden sting of tears, then rose up on his knees. The movement was a little uncomfortable, but he was a trooper and left it in as he carefully straddled Ted's thighs.

"Are you still okay?" he whispered, stroking Quinlan's bound cock lightly. It was as hard as ever and maybe a little fuller, although whether it was because of the strap or the shortening effect, he couldn't tell.

"Yeah, I'm okay. You ready to get on with it, baby? 'Cause it'll take me longer to come, and I'm not supposed to wear this for more than twenty minutes."

"I'm ready. Go ahead and pull it out." He pressed his face to Ted's shoulder to hide his discomfort as the dildo was withdrawn, then rose up and shoved the real cock in all at once. It went more easily than ever before, and Quinlan suddenly realized that using the giant toy was the right move after all. Murray felt loose and strange for a moment, and then his elastic muscles regained their normal shape, hugging him tight, but without the stress of forcing his way in and risking the loss of his erection.

"Oh, baby," Quinlan groaned, biting gently at his throat. "God, baby, I missed you so much."

"I missed you, too," Murray panted, pushing him deeper, faster. The hot flesh against his prostate was so much better than the cold rubber, he didn't know how he could ever have enjoyed it. That was like a medical procedure compared to this, a real act of love. "Touch me, Lieutenant. Make me tighter for you."

Quinlan squeezed his rock hard shaft, cradling it against his belly, and felt every muscle in Murray's thin body tense in response. It had been so long since they'd shared this, and every small intimacy they'd had in the meantime paled to nothing in comparison. There had been love—there was always love—and tenderness, and even orgasms. But this was passion. This was Murray forgetting that Ted was old and sick, forgetting to think of him as fragile and weak; this was hot breath panting against his neck; sharp teeth, fingerprint bruises, and the frantic, driving thrusts of a man who loved a good ass pounding and hadn't had one in too long.

"Oh, baby, that's good," Ted whispered, wrapping his hand around Murray's bony hip to pull him closer, harder. "That's so good, baby. Can you come?"

"Any time," he laughed softly, licking Quinlan's throat. "Can you?"

"I sure hope so. But you go first, Murray. I want to feel you come like this."

"And then what?"

"Then I want you to lay down and let me take you seven ways from downtown."

"I thought I was supposed to do all the work," he said, already altering his rhythm to one that would bring him off fast. The low mewling sound he made told his lover it was close, and Quinlan jacked him roughly, his hand slicked with Murray's pre-come, the air thick with the scent of imminent release.

"That's it, baby, you're working just fine," he growled and Murray came, sobbing and cursing and crying his name. Quinlan held him for a long moment, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and milking his cock with the other. This would be the only semen he touched tonight, and now that he'd lost his own, what had always been a general liking was becoming actual fascination. He licked his hand clean as Murray lay against his shoulder and watched, still shuddering and gasping for breath.

It was a relief to pull free and lie down, surrendering himself to his Quinlan's loving care. He trembled under the warm touch on his back, the strong hands that spread his legs and guided him into position. It wasn't too much to hold himself up on his knees and elbows, to help his lover enter him again, to give him depth and freedom and control. It was very little effort to find the right angle to make Ted's pleasure his own, and if flexing and clenching one practiced muscle after another was tiring, the hungry, needy groans it earned him in response was more than payment enough.

"Come for me, Lieutenant," he moaned, twisting his hips in that way Ted couldn't resist. "Come on, _Lieutenant_, give it to me. Harder—_oh, god_—harder. Hard as you want, please—_oh, fuck, Ted_." His own body was beginning to respond and that was nice, but not as nice as what he knew he was doing to his lover. Quinlan liked the sound of his voice, he got off on the talking, the _pleading_, in a big way, and when nothing else could make him come, Murray begging him to never failed. He kept up a steady stream of eager obscenities, moving with strength to meet each thrust, and dissolved into helpless sobs of pure need when Quinlan leaned over him and took his hand, twining their fingers together. His other hand slid down Murray's hip and eased underneath him, toying with his stiffening cock, making him tighter, making him cry.

Quinlan felt the familiar tension in his belly, the tightness in his balls, and knew the end was near. He wanted Murray to come again, was dimly aware that the other man must need to by now, but knew he couldn't wait. Any attempt to hold back might derail it altogether. He closed his eyes and squeezed Murray's hand, grounding himself as his climax overtook him. The feeling of pulsation was gone, the deep muscle spasms cut by more than half, but the rest of it was still there and it was good. Lights strobed behind his eyelids and he bucked hard, growling half-formed words of possessive love that Murray never heard at any other time.

Murray soaked it all in, the sounds and sensations of his true love's passion, while writhing and thrusting to the last, fucking himself helplessly on the still-hard shaft. He had time to think that they should have looked into cock rings years ago, and then Quinlan was collapsing across his back, bearing him down and covering him, giving him the contact he craved and changing the angle inside him just a little, just enough, and Murray came with a breathless shout of triumph and defeat.

After a moment, Quinlan released the strap and let Murray's body squeeze the blood back out of his cock. When his erection was gone, he withdrew and lay down with a sigh.

"Was—was that okay, kid?" he asked, so shyly it might have been their first time.

"It was great, Lieutenant," Murray smiled, turning on his side and inching closer. "I mean really—just—great. To be honest, a lot better than I expected."

"Yeah, me too. So, was it—different? Did I feel different to you?"

"A little bit thicker, maybe. Fuller."

"How could you tell, after that enormous dick?" he teased and Murray laughed.

"Now, you have to admit, that was a great idea. Come on, wasn't it nice just sliding in without having to work at it? It was a lot easier on you, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess. I always liked that part, working you open, forcing it just a little—but you're right, I'm probably not hard enough for it anymore."

"Not _anymore_, Lieutenant. Just not tonight. You were great, and you'll keep getting better."

"Maybe. But if—if I don't get better…"

"You don't have to. You're great just the way you are."

He nodded and gave Murray's hand a squeeze. Suddenly he thought of Lorna, a woman who had never really known him at all and thought they still had a magical connection after seventeen years apart. Or did she? More likely she just said that to hurt them, to hurt the sweet young man who made him so happy, because she'd never had anyone like that in her life and never would. It was pretty sad, really, and when he realized that, he understood why Murray had given her the money.

"Can I ask you something, kid?"

"Sure. No secrets, right?" He laid his head on Quinlan's shoulder and waited, not expecting anything too heavy.

"Murray, why did you forgive me?"

"Forgive you for what?"

"For—for that guy. Deke. You act like it never happened and I—I don't think I could have done that, in your place. You just—forgot it."

"Well, I _want_ to forget it. I—it hurt, Lieutenant, I won't try and deny that. But you didn't really do anything. I mean, thinking about it, wanting to do it, isn't good, but it's not the same as actually doing it. At least not to me."

"I don't know if I could say the same in your place. If you'd told me you wanted someone else—that you'd let him kiss you, that you'd thought about letting him fuck you, I don't know if I'd ever trust you again. And that would really suck for me, because I'd never find another man like you. There isn't one, and I'm so sorry I forgot that. I've done a lot of stupid things in my life, but almost losing you has to be the stupidest."

"Ted, no. You're not giving either of us enough credit here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I—even if you'd fucked him, if you'd fired him after and confessed and apologized, I wouldn't have left you. I'd have been hurt, brokenhearted, even, but I'd have stayed. I love you, Ted. So long as you want me, I'm here. That's just how it is."

"So you're saying I can fuck around all I want and so long as I'm sorry after, you don't care?"

"No, I'd care. I'd be a broken shell of a man after the second or third time, but if you did that, I'd take it to mean you didn't want me anymore. This is different. Nothing happened, you're sorry that it almost did, end of story. Right?"

"Yeah, right." He was quiet for a moment, stroking Murray's back and thinking that over. When he spoke again, it was to change the subject. "You want a shower before we call it a night?"

"Sure." Murray rose up on one elbow and kissed him softly. "You rest while I go start the water." He slid out of bed and put on his glasses, walking naked toward the door.

"Love you, baby," Quinlan whispered, and saw the shiver that ran through the skinny body in response. After a couple of minutes, he got up and followed.


End file.
